by the end of december i did what i’d never done before: i carefully planned the upcoming year.
there was much to be done, a lot to accomplish. the feeling that my time is running out overwhelms me and i have to sort everything, make things fit in twelve months.
soon it’s gonna be my eighth anniversary of my first mental illness diagnosis and, since then, i had no choice but to let myself lose control of many practical things and get by as I could. the last couple of months, however, gave me a new boost to shift things and get back to what I was pre 2011. planning was needed to keep this going.
the first thing – which was pretty much given – was to get my relationship back on track. i’ve been calmly relying on this since i returned from spain and put myself in the energy flow that’s carried me ever since – and that’s where the whole organizing came from.
by officially being back together, i’d keep myself in this flow and then had to have a schedule that wouldn’t let us be apart for more than 40 days. i was willing to spend my time and money on this, easily, since it was directly attached to my main goal – and we’ll get back to this in a minute.
then I needed to get healthy. I needed to sort my finances. I needed to work more, steadily and more efficiently. I needed to keep my reading throughout the year as it’s been for the past few months. it was just when i started listing all this that i realized it depended on only two things to make all this work: being disciplined and organized.
one year prior i had – in a much more clumsy way – tried to do the same. the reasons were a bit different: i knew i was about to face a really tough time and tried to keep myself on my feet (which, as all we know, didn’t work a bit). by the end of january, i was a complete mess (and i still suspect i never fully recovered).
but now, it was different. on the 1s day of the year all was right: i was beyond happy. i was loved. we had plans. i couldn’t wait. i was ready.
i was wrong.
now, 34 full days of 2019 behind me, i can assure: i’m stuck in a loop of heartbreaks that keep derailing me. i can grasp the irony of making plans and seeing they fade to dust.
i constantly debate on giving up or pulling through. i tried to give up twice already, but i strived countless times.
i wish i could just vanish from existence without causing any burden or pain for anyone. i carry a heavy heart around and a constant flood of repeating bad memories: the list of those who chose not to love me anymore, to cut me off, to try to erase me.
it’s funny how everyone is allowed to do so, but myself.
i wake up of nightmares every morning – not those about tragedies or monsters, but with loved ones listing the (many) worst things they think about me.
most of the time, i manage go past it all. i read. i work harder. i do yoga (!) and make gratitude lists (!). i eat my greens and go out in the sun. i breath in and out, counting to four and then again. i try to love myself.
the latter is the hardest and, funnily enough, not on my year’s resolutions.
i’m overall a pretty realistic person and, for that, haven’t been able to dodge the criticism. lately i’ve been catching myself, during long uber rides, mentally reinforcing my actions and decisions, as if trying to believe that i did my best.
and i did. i promise, i did.
but it’s worth nothing if i’m the only one who thinks so.
