Everyday Life

Those I Long For as a Person with Anxiety and Chronic Depression

Sometimes I do not know what to write about whenever I think of the words “long” or “want”. Most often than not, all I get to think about is what I have with me as of current: the insecurities, the flaws, the ambiguities of my person that I find distasteful. Rarely do I see myself as someone with something I need to hope for, or as a person with aspirations who would find out that there might be something in store that I haven not even considered. Oftentimes, I do behold that everything around me is as bleak as a blustery day—where winds blow without compunction and where grey clouds manifest themselves as giant boulders across the sky. In these, I do not even desire to look forward to anything nor note in myself that there is something that I would wish to acquire. Everyday is always the same routine, a cycle if you will.

However, I began to mull things over: maybe there are things that I REALLY WANT. Perhaps I just don’t see them for now, as the presence of those which I may find fulfilling to me may just be around the corner waiting that I catch sight of those. In this regard, I may even write down an inventory of sort—those that I take for granted and at the same time, find of notable interest. And as I shift to the perspective that I possess a sort of social anxiety and at the same time, chronic depression (as having been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and temporal lobe epilepsy), perhaps there are really ideas or aspirations that I could find intact in myself notwithstanding the labourious ordeals that I have to deal with almost on a daily basis. And as such (while I run down on each sentiment that I may want to experience, despite and in spite of my illness), I could make a list of those here while thoughts are fresh and the yearnings palpable:

  • Live elsewhere;
  • Practice my own beliefs and convictions;
  • Travel to places I fancy;
  • Be more free-spirited and independent;
  • Make more friends;
  • Leave my comfort zone;
  • Have a sense of direction;
  • Write more;
  • Finish my graduate school degree;
  • Be with someone I could trust in for the rest of my life;
  • Be more united with God
  • Realise my own vision of myself
  • NOT LET MY ILLNESS DEFINE ME

The abovementioned may be a little grand, eh? But I have grand ideas and dreams for myself—not so much as to getting so puffed-up but so as I may eventually be ME. The illness has taken lots of potential away from me; and as I succumbed ever more further into the dungeons of depression and the labyrinthine mazes of anxiety, all the more did I shy away from holding onto what I know I can be as an individual. I have often decried that my talent has long dissipated, that my being a “wordsmith” has been reduced to 500 words in every writing I pursue, due to my vocabulary getting more limited by the day (no thanks, epilepsy). I have begun to forget things all the more, a testament to this would by a difficulty when I read and a loss of focus. All these have taken a toll on my self-esteem that there are times I would merely want to dissipate into thin air. As I see myself sort of disintegrating into a whole mass of idiocy (not that I would like to affirm such, but just as a quick observation I do not even want to become), my personal dreams have ceased to be more intimately exciting. It is as if I had been reduced to a soul wandering for purpose but could not unravel it despite a thorough searching. Now of course, my foreseen recourse is to blame my illnesses, thereby forgetting that there ought to still have that glimmer of hope left in me so as I could continue moving forward.

However, as I listed my own personal goals above, I found out that I have never forgotten possessing desires and dreams. Yes, my illnesses have become more tedious to deal vis-a-vis those I want for myself, notwithstanding those characteristics of mine that hamper my growth. But is it all too late? The sceptic in me would unabatingly cry out “yes” since circumstances seem to imbibe that reality. Although, then again, is it all too late? I had wanted to die countless times, in as much as I would feel as though I am a failure in many areas. And even unto this writing, I could not even flinch when I say I would like to die in a way in order to for my troubles to cease.

Yet, my goals! I need to attain those!

Yes, I do not want to dwell in the idea of I being sick hence my inability to rise past my conundrum of downfalls. Deep within me is the subconscious push that I could still make it. But how? I am 30-ish and my contemporaries have, in a way, accomplished even some of those they have hoped for. As for me? I am still here, dwelling in misery and ogling through my lifeless existence. So should I still have a goal to look forward to?

Still the answer is yes.

As they say, dreams can define you in what you want to be. So, for my part, it is all about how I could do something that my aspirations become not mere longings but also part of my reality. In this case, then, I should not let my illnesses get to me, but use it all the more to strive. Maybe I have forgotten to strive; but then, my dreams are still intact. Good for me.

I will survive.

Choleric-melancholic, blogger, teacher, mental health advocate, book lover.

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