As of last January I no longer experience depression or anxiety as mental illnesses.

How/why is a long story for another time. Meanwhile, I’ve spent the last seven months adjusting to who I am and what I’m capable of without their constant, debilitating presence. It’s been so much more difficult and complex than I thought.

I thought that I’d be ready right away to dive into school or work full-time. I thought I’d be immediately capable of so much.

I can’t even begin to describe at this time what made me so wrong. I can tell you that I’ve been trying to figure out how to live when I’m not stuck in the most hellish version of survival mode, but that doesn’t begin to capture the reality I’ve been facing this year. This is not what I expected. There is so much to learn about myself; there are so many things I never knew. My mental illnesses set me back so much for so long; the consequences are still devastating to come to terms with.

I’ve been happy being single for the first time in my life. Genuinely happy. Though at this point I am starting to feel a little antsy about finding someone who I’d be happier to be committed to than I am on my own.

I’m still self-employed. The job market is very oversaturated, so I’ve stepped back to figure out what it is I actually want to do longterm. About 12 hours ago I officially agreed to what could be the start of a new career, either as a freelancer or a future board member of a nonprofit. I’m not entirely sure what will happen, but I’m getting to work. (Unpaid, for now, but that could change.)

I’ve been focusing hardcore on my spirituality, as that played a huge part in my mental health journey this past year. My relationship with God has transformed me, to put it lightly.

I’ve been picking up on my writing more often. I haven’t made nearly enough progress to announce anything, but I’ve probably written at least 30,000 words this year so far.

I have been hit by a little bit of depression lately. Not in such a way I’d say this is a mental illness form of it… but I’ve been feeling a bit helpless and hopeless. For everything I’ve been doing, for all I have going for me, I still feel like nothing has actually changed. Not really. There’s a hint of change in the air, a taste of its promise, but I feel like the only thing that has changed this year is me.

And that alone is doing nothing to help me get my future on track. Not right now. Not tangibly.

I’ve wanted to make goals for so long now. Years and years and years. At times I’ve made statements and promises about what I was going to work on and accomplish, and I was rarely if ever able to follow through. I’ve been so sick of that for so long. So frustrated with myself.

Right now I still can’t make promises. There are very very few things that I feel confident in my dedication and conviction enough to say I’ll pull them off.

But this is temporary.

I am getting to the point where I am capable of so much more. I will be able to commit and make promises about what I will achieve. In my writing and every other aspect of life.

That much, I feel I can offer with conviction.

I’m not there yet… but I will be.