This winter is frustrating.
In a lot of ways I feel like I shouldn’t complain too much. Last winter was a serious low point in my life. Coming off of a nervous breakdown, depression and being derailed from my one year college program anything is better. And things are better. I’m now employed at a very good job that I’m pretty good at (but could be better) and I’m finally on Ritalin medication to help fix the A.D.H.D. that has been an issue for a large part of my life undiagnosed and untreated. There’s a lot of progress after turning 29 compared to after turning 28.
That said, my motivation since December has been extremely low. Sometimes I just go home, make something to eat and then just lay in bed. Hour after hour of just laying in bed until I feel like sleeping. This is common for many people but for me, it feels like regression. Much of it is due to the all too common issue of Seasonal Affective Disorder (S.A.D.). Man, someone should form a wrestling stable called S.A.D. Satan’s Angry Dogs? Superheroes Are Dangerous? Sabin, Aries and Daniels? This winter has been particularly brutal. Without a bike (fuck the dude who stole a bike with a blown tire) it makes going anywhere particularly difficult. The salt everywhere has entirely ruined a pair of shoes and plans to wreck another. I haven’t done much cardio. Definitely over 210lbs. I’m just completely sapped of energy to even sit down and write. Even worse is that because I’m on a computer (sometimes two) at work I don’t care to stare at a screen much at home. Just writing this has been a bit of a chore for me. However, I need to be writing. Even with Last Word on Sports I haven’t written much, been just editing other writers work.
It’s very hard for me to admit there’s shit wrong with me that I can’t take care of. That I can’t just say, “Okay, no more doing this.” It was first the A.D.H.D. and it’s also S.A.D., where too many people I know just think there’s nothing wrong. It’s laziness, it’s unhappiness, it’s whatever. But I’m not an unhappy person right now. I’m in a pretty good place. I like the progress in my life. I’m happily single and haven’t had much to be unhappy about. But it doesn’t change the fact I have zero motivation. It’s shit in my head I can’t control. The trouble of not admitting it isn’t that I am afraid of what people will think (I deal with my mom not understanding it every time I talk to her. If I can deal with her I can deal with anyone) but just admitting it to myself. Admitting to myself that all of the dreams I’ve left to the wayside? Sometimes I didn’t leave them. Sometimes it’s something in my brain holding me back. I hate thinking like that. It feels like an excuse and I hate excuses.
My writer’s block sits gathering dust because I couldn’t even stick to that. I want to be a writer? I can’t carry excuses. I have to work at it. It ain’t a fear of failure. It’s a fear of completion. Somewhere in my head, it doesn’t want me to complete anything in front of me and I hate that. I hate that it’s me but it isn’t me. It’s why I try not to black out anymore. I like to feel as in control with my life as I possibly can be now and blacking out from alcohol is only one way to lose control.
Maybe two or three weeks of winter left. Then comes spring. Thinking everything will be alright in the spring is like thinking your life will totally change on January 1. We all make resolutions and then they never stick. People who are successful with their dreams tend to throw everything away to make them. Friends, family, safety. Am I strong enough to do that? Would my brain co-operate?
This winter is frustrating. At least I finished this.