"Maybe this year will be better than the last. . ."
It's the first day of fall and the weather is beginning to change. (I've heard reports that it will be in the 80's tomorrow, but all that aside.) The autumnal breeze stirs up feelings of anxiety. It makes me reminisce about last year and none of those memories are pleasant. I cannot convey to those who knew me before or have only met me recently how painful and terrible last year truly was. This time last year was when I began that terrible downward spiral. I was alone, empty, and completely lost. I was a stranger in the jungles of Williamsburg with no one I could trust.
This painful rumination began yesterday when I read a PhD dissertation in counseling for which I was a member of the central study. She stated that I "clearly demonstrated symptoms of severe clinical depression" -- and that was in the beginning of October. The depths to which I fell were astounding. The fact that I managed to pull myself out of it was damned near miraculous. This is not something for which I can take full credit -- I am tremendously thankful for those who assisted in "saving me from myself."
I owe Vic, my other roommates, and countless others more than I could ever repay them. Even the Fitzgerald-ian Villain deserves my deepest gratitude. Fortunately I never see him and he's even more uncomfortable with his role in my salvation than I am. I know that he is tacitly aware of his role but I lament that I will never be able to be there for him the way he was for me.
I am also glad that I've had an opportunity to make friends that know the "better version of me." People whose company I enjoy without having to deal with the unpleasant emotional baggage of last year. Seeing some of those upon whom I had to lean heavily last year is awkward in social situations and my new group of friends have been spared this discomfort. I also don't want to ever really burden them with this additional information. I know some of them know bits and pieces of it by way of my introduction through Vic. I'm sure the Hummel is tangentially aware of it as well but I am hesitant to burden the Virginia Gentleman or even the Russian with it.
Also, I've got a shit load of work to do this weekend. So I'm kinda boned.
This painful rumination began yesterday when I read a PhD dissertation in counseling for which I was a member of the central study. She stated that I "clearly demonstrated symptoms of severe clinical depression" -- and that was in the beginning of October. The depths to which I fell were astounding. The fact that I managed to pull myself out of it was damned near miraculous. This is not something for which I can take full credit -- I am tremendously thankful for those who assisted in "saving me from myself."
I owe Vic, my other roommates, and countless others more than I could ever repay them. Even the Fitzgerald-ian Villain deserves my deepest gratitude. Fortunately I never see him and he's even more uncomfortable with his role in my salvation than I am. I know that he is tacitly aware of his role but I lament that I will never be able to be there for him the way he was for me.
I am also glad that I've had an opportunity to make friends that know the "better version of me." People whose company I enjoy without having to deal with the unpleasant emotional baggage of last year. Seeing some of those upon whom I had to lean heavily last year is awkward in social situations and my new group of friends have been spared this discomfort. I also don't want to ever really burden them with this additional information. I know some of them know bits and pieces of it by way of my introduction through Vic. I'm sure the Hummel is tangentially aware of it as well but I am hesitant to burden the Virginia Gentleman or even the Russian with it.
Also, I've got a shit load of work to do this weekend. So I'm kinda boned.