At 32
(Cross-posted to Teh Tumblrz)
I turned 32 this past Sunday. I spent the day doing laundry, poking around WoW with Zack, and going out to dinner with friends whose value I’ve recently come to appreciate a great deal. It was, all told, a good day.
This year has been full of huge changes for me, and I feel like this is as good a time as any to reflect on that. At 30 I gave up on a lot of goals I had set for myself. After that I felt like I was in the penultimate act of A Christmas Carol, surrounded by portents of a bleak, miserable future. In my case, though, the Ghost of Christmas Future really was in my head: I’ve been dealing with depression for a long time, and it was like being in an abusive relationship with myself. It’s not something I tend to talk about, but I came to realize that it was ruining my life. I had made too many decisions based on irrational anxiety and insecurity. I knew I needed help, but it took a while to build up the courage to actually find it.
The act of making an appointment with a psychiatrist alone gave me hope, as did finally ignoring that inner voice and taking a step toward being single for the first time in a decade and a half. The psychiatrist prescribed Zoloft so I would stop breaking things in my life and referred me to a therapist to help put things back together. By the time I went to Orlando for BotCon, my first one ever as a single woman left completely to her own devices, I was on top of the world.
It was while mulling over questions posed by my therapist that I came to accept that I was gay, and that was when I reached the last act of Scrooge’s adventure, running through the streets filled with joy because I had woken up from those terrible dreams to realize I had a future still ahead of me. I’ve settled down a lot now, but for weeks I was absolutely fixated on the idea as I came to terms with it. The depression and anxiety made me terrified of being alone, so I had jumped from relationship to relationship without ever stepping back to consider what I really, truly wanted. Once they were under control I was finally able to do that, and suddenly things made a lot more sense. I was convinced that there was something wrong with me, that I was somehow broken, and the revelation that I was just looking at things completely the wrong way floored me. I wasn’t weird, I was just queer.
So I approached my 32nd birthday without angst, looking at the glass as half-full for once, and half-full of something that is likely very, very tasty at that. I still have things that need improvement, but I’ve come so far in just the last few months that I know I can be the person I’m supposed to be. I know it’s within my grasp. I’ve started reaching out again to people I withdrew from, I’ve started finding ways to be more active, and I’ve started feeling comfortable just being myself. Things are good.
I turned 32 this past Sunday. I spent the day doing laundry, poking around WoW with Zack, and going out to dinner with friends whose value I’ve recently come to appreciate a great deal. It was, all told, a good day.
This year has been full of huge changes for me, and I feel like this is as good a time as any to reflect on that. At 30 I gave up on a lot of goals I had set for myself. After that I felt like I was in the penultimate act of A Christmas Carol, surrounded by portents of a bleak, miserable future. In my case, though, the Ghost of Christmas Future really was in my head: I’ve been dealing with depression for a long time, and it was like being in an abusive relationship with myself. It’s not something I tend to talk about, but I came to realize that it was ruining my life. I had made too many decisions based on irrational anxiety and insecurity. I knew I needed help, but it took a while to build up the courage to actually find it.
The act of making an appointment with a psychiatrist alone gave me hope, as did finally ignoring that inner voice and taking a step toward being single for the first time in a decade and a half. The psychiatrist prescribed Zoloft so I would stop breaking things in my life and referred me to a therapist to help put things back together. By the time I went to Orlando for BotCon, my first one ever as a single woman left completely to her own devices, I was on top of the world.
It was while mulling over questions posed by my therapist that I came to accept that I was gay, and that was when I reached the last act of Scrooge’s adventure, running through the streets filled with joy because I had woken up from those terrible dreams to realize I had a future still ahead of me. I’ve settled down a lot now, but for weeks I was absolutely fixated on the idea as I came to terms with it. The depression and anxiety made me terrified of being alone, so I had jumped from relationship to relationship without ever stepping back to consider what I really, truly wanted. Once they were under control I was finally able to do that, and suddenly things made a lot more sense. I was convinced that there was something wrong with me, that I was somehow broken, and the revelation that I was just looking at things completely the wrong way floored me. I wasn’t weird, I was just queer.
So I approached my 32nd birthday without angst, looking at the glass as half-full for once, and half-full of something that is likely very, very tasty at that. I still have things that need improvement, but I’ve come so far in just the last few months that I know I can be the person I’m supposed to be. I know it’s within my grasp. I’ve started reaching out again to people I withdrew from, I’ve started finding ways to be more active, and I’ve started feeling comfortable just being myself. Things are good.