New Year, New Blog

So, today is my birthday. Exciting, I know. As you can tell by my lack of explanation points I am thrilled to be turning 29 today. And just to add to my ongoing celebratory posts, I now  keep making that dumb joke about being 29 forever, which is super old lady status, which is exactly what I’ve become. I have the long  sweaters with cat hair all over them laid all over my house to prove it. And I don’t even own a cat, yet…

In all honesty, I was happy about it being my birthday. It gave me an excuse not to over analyze my thoughts, and turn “negative talk” into “blame it on my birthday talk”. Which, I can say, has given me a sense of peace in some sorts.

See, 2016 was a real eye opener for me. I had the opportunity to dive into some real deep- rooted shit, and the lovely part about the entire experience, was I didn’t even know I was doing it until I was dialing the suicide hotline asking “What the fuck is wrong with me?”. From previous posts you can see I have cowardly, tried starting a blog wanting people to open up and share experiences similar to mine. But as you can see my last post was nine months ago, and over that time I was trying to be something I really wasn’t. I was trying to hide from myself, who was really the person I needed to start saving.

So here I am, slowly but surely working on my writing, which I have actively avoided for the last ten years. I’ve kept a journal, and burned that journal. I’ve posted blogs, comments, or some sort of online rhetoric and ended up feeling ashamed or discouraged immediately following my pressing of the submit button. To some it may sound silly, but the pit in my stomach wanting to crawl its way up my throat said otherwise. For the longest time I felt, what I now recognize as anxiety, was just a normal reaction of me putting myself out there. And that wasn’t just giving strangers the power to critique my thoughts, but it crept into the way I lived my life.

I live with depression. I don’t suffer from it, I live with it. I have gone through the ringer of trying to call it something else. I am that person that likes to self diagnosis and not take the Dr.’s word for what it really is. “It can’t be depression, I’m too good for depression!” Jesus, Kat, it’s depression. You have it, now own it. Who cares when it manifested itself. For the longest time I blamed this little monster of mine on life experiences and other people’s actions. I never owned it for what it was. I never gave myself the opportunity to adapt to this new brand on my life. I ran from it, blaming it on things I couldn’t control, things that were not my fault, and things that ultimately would have happened if not to me someone else.  Now, I am not saying it does not manifest itself from life experiences. I have researched most, if not all, mental disorders dealing with depression. Adjustment disorder, PTSD, manic depression, bipolar, OCD, etc, etc…. And I am just writing from my own personal experiences. Everyone is different and our mental state can be adjusted by the blink of an eye. This is just Kat’s tale…get it, cat’s tail? (You can tell I’ve been saving up for that one)

Anyway, so 2016. Screw that year, right? Nah, that’s too much effort. I would become exhausted in a day trying to stick it to the man we call 2016. Besides so many other people on social media are doing it for me, so my depressed ass can just sit behind a computer or phone screen and slightly smile at their small effort of sharing something so fucking pointless. Man, I wish I had the energy and stamina to be so brave and post something so foolish. My fear of life, saved me from the humility. But yes, I agree with your “2016 Hate” memes, it wasn’t the best year for me either.

So flash forward to 4 days after the New Year. I am now a completely new person because I have added a 7 to the calendar year. C’mon, it’s bullshit. But to some a 7 over a 6 is all the bullshit they need to give them a kick in the pants to get things rolling. As you can see, I have gotten that kick. But as I sit here now, typing this lengthy blog, I question my endurance on keeping up with this. Can I do it? Is it worth enough? I mean, I have bought the “Dream Big” 2017 journal/calendar on expensive cardstock paper, that cost me a whopping $45.00. Are you kidding me?! That is more than a tank of gas, but it’s going to change me, I know it. Wrong, I know what’s going to work, me. Me, myself, and I. I have to want it. I have to desire it. I have to hold myself accountable and not be afraid of mistakes or humiliation. I think anyone that is in my shoes, deep down really knows that. But I can’t help but feel terrified of who I am, and that person taking over who I want to be.

Which leads me to my next point, burn out. I know everyone can get burnt out from things in their lives. Jobs, hobbies, likes, or whatever.  I used to love Christmas, everything about it. Decorating, the smells, the feeling of Christmas morning, family, friends, just pure happiness. Ugh, wrong. I think my blood pressure went up as I wrote that. But it is a feeling millions of us share. I, on the other hand, look at it as a ginormous hill to climb with no end in sight. The holidays don’t end after the first of the year. For me, they keep going and going until its Valentine’s Day and every other holiday back to Christmas and fuck, it’s December 13th and I still haven’t hung Christmas lights or gone Christmas Shopping. I become burnt out even before it begins. I don’t give anything a chance for fear of feeling burnt out. I was so ashamed to start anything for fear of not finishing, and I am the queen of getting excited about something, go all out with preparation, and getting half way through it feeling broken and worthless. It was the cycle of my life and everything I did in it. As today, on my birthday, I took down a strand of lights from our front porch, and gave in to the excuse of it being the day I came into this life to indulge my feeling of exhaustion and humiliation, and put off the rest of the task till some time next week to finish taking the rest down. The fuel will actually start when I start feeling  that my neighbors must think I’m so lazy. I’m not I promise. I’m working on it. And I’m sure they don’t think that, and if they do, is it really my business, what they think of me? No.

Living with Depression, and chronic burn out is no fun. I really feel that a lot of my self diagnosis has got me to the place I am currently, and the pharmaceutical companies and over prescribing Dr.’s who almost had me off myself, well they can keep their over prescribed Ritalin, Adderall, Zoloft, Xanax, mood suppressing, stabilizing, toxic waste of mind altering medication. I am self aware. I have gone through the hoops of mental struggles and exhaustion and, you know what, I’m better for it. I no longer want to look at my life through dense fog, I want to see it clearly, sadness and all. So if you don’t hear from me for another 4 months, that’s a congratulatory moment for me, because it beats nine.

 

 

 

 

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