Saturday night, sitting at a bar in an LAX terminal, I became fed up with my depression. I was not only fed up, but angry. I became angry with my own unwarranted sadness. I reached a point of realizing that if nothing changes, my mind is the only thing worth battling. It feels like I’ve been fighting myself the hardest in the past year. And it felt toxic. It felt familiar to the relentless intuitive feeling you get when you know that that relationship you’ve been hurting and fighting for is actually coming to an end. The end you never thought would occur. And damn it, it hurts, but when it’s over, you feel good as fuck and renewed.
I thought about all the times I publicly hated myself. All the times I doubted myself. All the times I called myself ugly, worthless, untalented, shitty and unloved. All the times I convinced myself that no one cares if I stay or if I go. I reached a moment of tears. Like always, they make they’re way to the forefront when they can not fall. But every time, I convince myself that no one sees it; no one even notices. And so they don’t. And like I’ve always practiced, I take 4 or 5 deep breaths, a few fall, but then I’m back. Back to masking the unidentified hurt.
I never wanted to blame anyone. I always blamed myself. And I never thought of anyone to be as ugly as I am. It wasn’t until Saturday that I realized how long I’d been in this toxic wirlwind of deeply embedded self hatred. I was tired. I’m currently tired. And I am done.
Over the past 4 months, I’ve been at my lowest in my depression. I avoided being social by any means necessary. I projected most of my own insecurities and went on a habitual flake frenzy. My heart was open but my eyes and ears? Out on vacation. There’s plenty from my childhood that I now realize nurtured my adult depression. Uprooting is hard fucking work but I can actually say that I am doing it. Stopping myself from the twisted pleasures of sulking in my own dark thoughts & self loathing takes more self-control than avoiding sugar, alcohol & weed ever called for (weed high in thc drives me into anxiety hell, now).
I realized the moment(s) I fall into the deep dark world of self-loathing. I realized the types of relationships I should avoid. And I understand nothing is really as bad as it seems. (or is it?) I realize what being honest with myself and others feels and looks like. I realize that NONE OF THE NEGATIVE SHIT I THINK ABOUT MYSELF IS TRUE NOR RELEVENT TO MY GROWTH!!! And this reality feels liberating to my own mind. Because my own mind has convinced me that I’m not shit. False.
But it’s not that simple. Because although I know I’m beautiful, worthy, loved & powerful, I had to first believe it for myself. It didn’t matter how much people showered me with compliments and affirmations, I always knew I had to believe it and walk in it every fucking day, moment, minute & second of my life, for myself.
Today, I feel fucking great. Everything in my life is evidence that I am great. I am evidence that I’m overcoming what is being called a lifelong illness. I am strong. This isn’t the answer. This isn’t a self-help journal entry nor me telling anyone “you can do it too”. This is my progress. This is my story.
And this is only the beginning.