May was a lot of work and trying to juggle real life with staying productive, these are my afterthoughts. That’s a lot of work for someone who’s constantly struggling with finding a stable work ethic because of my constant struggle with my depression. They say we should celebrate the little wins. This art dump is my way of celebrating that.
I could have crumbled and completely just shut down. That was a definite possibility, not at all beyond the scope. I could have just said, well, I know I have to publish Age of Sirene, but I can’t handle this. I can’t handle the weight of my own world.
The bitter truth is, I did.
I shut down except not in the way that kept me from my work. During May, I grabbed hold of my lifelines. I started cleaning, exercising, meditating, eating healthier, baking and reaching out to my number one support system. I clung for dear life. And thank God, I did.
My afterthoughts about the month of May.
My family was given devastating news one after another. I use “devastating” in varying degrees- one that makes you cry and another that makes you speechless. And for someone like me who struggles to identify emotions within myself and in others on top of all other symptoms of depression, this “devastation” rendered me almost non-functioning. I was on automatic, you could say.
I was constantly trying to be on top of my own emotions, being analytic about every little thing. The reason for this is that if I wasn’t, it could get ahead of me.
As I said, I clung to my dear life- this semblance of a life.
I’ve been saying that lately, semblance because, to be honest, my life isn’t the typical life. I don’t have an attachment to it. So why cling, right? Other people weigh my life far more than I do. But in that same sentiment, I weigh their lives over my own. And in math, it just all equals out. I have to care for my life to some degree if I claim to care for them. That’s a truth I can’t deny myself. It just is that way.
My struggles were definitely more than I can handle on my own or even with my support system.
But through it all, through the struggles of May, I survived.
No, scratch that.
I’m here, and I’m finally getting the professional help that 23-year-old me- no 17-year-old me cried about. She finally gets a chance to be helped.
The Young Me
Sometimes, we are too afraid to ask for assistance. Other times, we have been traumatized out of asking for help. I would say, I check off on both.
Through the years, I’ve been told that everything is happening in my head. It is. However, in the words of a great wizard,
I may not agree with J.K. Rowlings beliefs, but this quote has stuck with me since I was 18. It validated a sense of confusion that I felt as a child. And it continues to resonate with me and others who go through similar obstacles in their life.
Now that I’m older and have less need to rely on “adults”, those older than me, in forming my own opinions, I have decided that it was not okay for them to manipulate me. It is okay to ask for help. And to myself, it’s okay to be afraid to take that step. The anxiety and the insecurity that comes with the territory are not unusual.
And that’s the next path in my journey. It’s not just me writing about it, hoping that at some point, I’ll find my answer. It’s not just me unburdening to my friends, my support system. There’s not just one person reading on-end methods of others and doing trial and error.
There’s science and a professional watching over me. Facts. Not conjectures and no old midwife tales, none of that.
I’m no longer alone.
And May taught me everything that Georgiana learned.