I have breathed poetry for as long as I remembered, and this is undoubtedly one of my all-time favourite:

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.”

– Robert Frost –

 

I am officially entering my third new decade.

The first one I have no recollection of. I was merely 2 years old when the year 2000 began. I was oblivious to the apparent worldwide panic, that the world was re-setting and the whole shebang.

I was 12 when 2010 began. Old enough to remember some things but not to understand the significance nor care about it. I remembered starting middle school, but not much else. That was a period in my life where a lot of things have been forgotten consciously.

But 2020. I’m 21. Young enough for most people to scoff at me and tell me I’ve got a long way to go in life, that I have barely scratched the surface of living. But enough; old enough to know that I know nothing. But every day is a day I learn something new, and at 21 I have learned more than most people have forgotten.

I am many things – most adjectives that I would use people would ridicule me for simply because I am only 21. Weathered, worn, burned out.

Every year I choose to have a brighter perspective on life. Every year I strive to love myself and all that inner healing mantras. All the tools are at my (and our) disposal, all the resources a few clicks away. Mirror work, self-love, affirmations.

I can tell you none has worked their magic on me so far, but I have gone from being constantly miserable to just occasionally miserable, so I guess it’s a process. And albeit patience is not a virtue of mine, there is something to be said about persistence and resilience. After all, when I have absolutely nothing, all I really have is persistence.

I have been completely independent since I was 15. I have learned to stand up on my own two feet, been knocked down, stood back up, stumbled and fallen over, and crawled back up. I am resilient. I am strong.

Most people mistake me when I say I am diagnosed with clinical depression.

No, I’m not sad all the time.

No, I’m not suicidal all the time.

No, I’m not curled up crying all the time.

Depression doesn’t make me stop living. I still live. I still go out. I still watch movies. I still crack jokes. I still find things funny.

I still live. I still laugh. I still love.

This is what depression does – it is proven that a human being is so strong we can survive almost anything – almost, because it is fact as long as we see something at the end of sight.

What depression does to me; and so many other people, is that every day it hits, it clouds our judgment, our inner sight, and it stacks and it stacks and it stacks,-

What depression does is not let me see the end. And on days that I see the end, interspersed with days that I don’t see the end – I stop knowing what’s real and what’s not anymore.

Art helps me. Writing, painting, journaling. I create so much because I need to fill the void. I need to churn all the emotions from inside so I don’t drown. I have lasted so long simply because I never stop being amazed at the fact that I have made creations out of what feels like nothing inside me.

Recovery doesn’t mean you always progress gradually. If you’re one of the lucky ones, sure. Recovery also means no matter how far you’re gotten, you might fall back to point zero, you can always fall to rock bottom at any given time, where every thing that exists could be a trigger, but the point is to always, always, always make your way back up.

I guess this is one of my resolutions. I want to stop calling this blog a graveyard of my creation and turn over a new leaf, again. I might turn over another new leaf after a year gone, after 6 months gone, but as long as it’s making my way back up, I’d rather try and fail than not try at all.

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