I deliberately took a day off from this writing and it did me well. I had a colossal day yesterday, and a weird, but wonderfully positive day today. I take these pills now—to tell the truth I’m not entirely sure what they’re called, but they’re little capsules of blue and white that rattle like a snake. The first time I held one of these pills in my fingers, I could feel the individual weight of every little… thing that filled the cap. My mind has been swimming about them, it feels like it’s filled with tiny little ball bearings. Or nanobots. I’ve been erring on the side of nanobots for most of the day, but it’s probably literally anything else.
I had a good day today. There were laughs, I was personable, I got to meet some genuinely nice people; I was the person that I want to be all the time. To be honest, I’ve been chalking it up to my outfit—I looked damn good today. I’m learning to embrace that about myself and give in to what some would call “fact,” but I’ve always struggled to imagine someone could use those words towards me. It’s weird going through your teenage years overweight and coming (for the most part) out of it when you’re older. I’m by no means a fit man, but I am no where near that three hundred pound seventeen-year-old I used to be. I had no confidence in any part of me until my twenties and even then, it was uneven. It took another nine years and a (platonic and professional) group of ladies to get me to realize that I’m…
[aside] yeah, I’ll take an aside in my own damn post, in the middle of a G.D. thought too. I’ve sat here for ten minutes contemplating the next word in this sentence, but as I do, I realize that I can’t finish. I just don’t have it in me to quantify my own looks in a broad scope, maybe on a day by day basis if we’re talking style, but not with an umbrella term. The real problem here is that I really like what I’ve written so far and don’t want to start again, hence the aside. So, in haste, I’ve realized that the (half)word I’m going to use here is “dece.” It’s a poor choice.
…to get me to realize that I’m dece. It used to be that I’d look in the mirror and see that kid looking back. No style, no finesse. Underappreciating my long hair and just trying to fit in. I know I was just a kid, but it gets me into the headspace that I left behind long ago. I hated myself so much through high school. I was too fat, too intense, too goofy, too loud, too much. People liked me, but the inside couldn’t have been farther from the outside. I was one of those kids that when I dropped out of college (my desperate attempt at prolonging high school), I realized that “I’m not shit” in the real world. I coasted through charisma, bullshit and a smile for four years and it set a pace that got interrupted and then derailed, like a lot of kids.
I went to a psychiatrist yesterday (obviously I didn’t get these nanobot pills from a rando on the street), and he opened my eyes to a lot of things. He diagnosed me with Borderline Personality Disorder and I’m still figuring out that one, but he also confirmed the anxiety and depression diagnoses as well (those were a given). One more and I’ve got a bingo.
Things are going to be interesting, being on medication, but I’ve accepted a simple truth: this isn’t my fault. I’m at the mercy of my genes, and I’ve been prescribed the same thing a few people close to me take—the thing that works wonders in my family. I’m at the mercy of the trauma of my past; I’ve been through some shit, and it factors in. Nothing happens in a vacuum and I have finally accepted that. I’m finally open to the help that I desperately needed, so it seems like this whole… thing has taken. I have a bit of follow through that needs to happen still, but the journey is started.
I think I might crack this happiness thing yet, that or I’ll become more nanobot than man (if that happens, just leave it alone and see where it goes).
See you tomorrow.
Writer, performer, producer and musician from Alberta.