An Understanding - 4. I Guess I Grow Up

This is really a story about depression. About how life can punch you repeatedly in the face and, if you numb yourself, you can take those hits without dragging yourself too far down.

 

Blake was everything to me. The practical side of me thanks god that we were forced apart before our age difference could have a legal impact. But the part of me that was and had been (and, really, will forever be) in love with him for six years felt like it had been taken out back and shot in the head.

 

But I had my hobbies, and I had my mother. She got me through those rough times, reminding me that it was high school and hey, you have your whole life in front of you, you idiot.

 

So I focused on learning how to build websites. I made some money and the last year of school was fun. A bit numb, but it flew by. I took a year off after I graduated, inverting my sleep schedule and calling 4 PM "early."

 

Then I moved to San Francisco with two giant suitcases full of my clothes and tchotchkes. This is when I learned what depression meant, and what it meant to me. I went to work for a very well-regarded advertising agency, building sites for some of the biggest brands in the world. Being 19 on your own in a world capital like SF not only takes balls but it takes it out of you: I learned in two weeks everything I could have learned in college, and how much people fucking suck.

 

I made a couple friends (though really they took pity on me) and went to some parties. A really handsome guy took me home and I learned what sex as an adult felt like. But he never returned my calls, never went out of his way to see me. It didn't last long, which is a generous way of saying there was nothing there to begin with. People suck.

 

So. Back to depression. Tally the points: two guys that I'd given my all to weren't on the table anymore. I sucked at dating, and I was in a city that was impossible to get a (good) date in. Fuck everything, right? So I worked. I shut off my brain.

 

There's only so many years you can devote to your career before your life comes knocking again, begging, "hey did you forget about me or something?" For me it was seven years of waking up, going to the office, hating everything, missing Blake and trying to find a partner before life rushed back in and saved me.

 

I think depression's redemption is that you tend to know you are, in fact, depressed. Not often can you do anything about it but every so often, if you're lucky, the metaphorical clouds part and you get some clarity. For me, this clarity was better than an oasis — I made it my charter, the roadmap for how the rest of my life was going to be — I was going to finally be happy! It still took two years from when said clouds parted to being able to wake up without feeling completely lost, but I had glimpsed what could come, what I could make my life about. I knew that if anyone could beat this without professional intervention (read: Klonopin) that it would be and it MUST be me. I knew I had failed enough times that once more and you wouldn't be reading this story.

 

From my initial realization it really has been two years. Two years of cursing like a sailor and using up my fortunately-Irish liver. But I did it. And now I'm sitting here, ass-early in the morning writing this with the hope it helps someone. That, if someone comes across this story and feels how I've felt for the entirety of my adult life, well if it doesn't heal it can hopefully help. And at the very least, there's someone out there feeling similar things; you're not alone.

 

I'm happy now. Nothing changed apart from my thinking. It was uphill the entire way and sucked and it damn near killed me. And now imagine what you can do, the hill you can climb and the shift you can make. You can be great. It might suck sometimes and will probably take longer than you'd ever want. But you can do it.

 

And you will.