January first, a new year. I have been watching this cursor blink for days, actually more like weeks. All of the muscles from my fingertips to my brain waves are creaking and yawning as they’re stretched back into use.
There’s hesitation with every word, trepidation in the unknowing of what’s coming next. This state of limbo, a weary uncertainty that’s not desperately sad nor is it comfortably content. There is surprise at the end of each day that might be described as good; a word that feels strange on my tongue because I am acutely aware of how quickly the demons can creep back in.
So much emphasis is put on each new year, as though the constructs of the universe and how it is affected by time and space change at the strike of midnight every year on December thirty-first. We can make the choice to enact change in our lives at any moment on any day of the year. New year’s resolutions are so often failures because they are a social trend rather than a personal commitment. It generally takes a subconscious part of us to be ‘ready’ for a major change to take hold in our lives, and it’s somewhat difficult to tell our subconscious to be ready on a specific date. On the other hand, I am a lover of lists and setting goals is never a bad thing.
I have a goal, but it has no time constraint. My goal is to forgive myself. It’s as though I’m constantly running uphill because I never come close to reaching my own expectations. Expectations I set before I understood how debilitating my depression can be, how the medications affect my functionality, memory and energy. In my eyes, I am never enough. Memories haunt me, they invade every moment of silence, destroying precious opportunities for peaceful gratitude. It is a symptom of my illness, a struggle to let go and a need to understand the why of everything that has happened. It is a twisted logic – if I can get to the why I may find my salvation. But the cracks in my memory and the demons that blur my focus keep me running in circles. Forgiving myself is a battle against the forces of my illness and a belief I have ingrained within myself of not being enough. Some days I believe I have the strength to win, or, at least, the will to keep fighting. Other days aren’t as sparkly.