I Was and I Am

What would my childhood self think of adult me?  How would she see me? Would she see herself as a hero, role-model?  Or would she use what she knows to choose not to be what she became?

I think it would likely be a mix of all of the above.

Sadly, I am not proud of who I am or who I’ve become in my adult life.  I don’t think I’m a bad person.  I just don’t think I am accomplished.  I shouldn’t equate success with morality, I know this, but I can’t seem to stop myself from doing so.  I would guess there others that feel the same. 

I am a survivor.  I have survived myself for years.  I’m lucky to have gotten through my twenties in one living, breathing piece.  My teenage years weren’t much better.  I think my twenties were an escalation of my teens; which is a series of sad and terrifying experiences.  I believe that the teen years suck for pretty much everyone.  You would think that things would improve as you age out of your teens and into your twenties and from there into your thirties and so on.  Unfortunately, that was not my experience.

I’m not sure that my younger self would be proud of who I was in my twenties.  I know I’m not.  I think it likely would have scared her if she were able to see into her own future.  My twenties were wrought with fear and depression and all of the existential dread that goes along with being an undiagnosed, mentally ill young adult. I was so deep into a severe depressive episode after the birth of my oldest that I was non-functioning.  I felt buried under an invisible weighted cloud or blanket that literally held me to the floor.  I imagine this would scare a young me examining my future.  Once I was diagnosed, I still went untreated as our healthcare system in this country is non-existent and what is available is useless; especially back in “those” days.  My twenties were a time of untreated, rapid cycling so the next cycle in my early twenties was a pretty severe manic episode.  An extended one.  I had no idea what was going on and wouldn’t have questioned it in any case.  Gawd, what an improvement from the deep depression that I had been suffering.  And I was suffering.  That first, diagnosable manic episode was fun.  It was irrationally enjoyable.  In the moment.  I was fun.  My life was fun.  It was partying, sex, late nights and very early mornings.  Sunsets and sunrises and more energy than any human could possibly need or expend.  What is there to question in that existence?

My thirties.  Ah, my thirties.  I do believe that my younger self would’ve been scared and sad, but proud of herself in her thirties.  There was a lot of loss and there was a lot of responsibility.  I was able to step up and take care of business that needed to be handled.  I was strong and willing to do what it took to survive very difficult situations. I still look back and feel that I didn’t do enough.  I could’ve done more.  Maybe the younger me would’ve pushed me to work harder and give more.  Maybe she would understand what I didn’t at the time: you can only work within the boundaries of what you have available to you in any given moment.  Once you know more, you can do more.  You can do better.  But I think I’ve learned to be proud of who I was.  And who I’ve become.

That brings me to the here and now.  My forties.  I’m deep into them at this point and things are not going as I would’ve hoped.  Not as well as they should’ve been.  I’ve made mistakes.  I’ve taken twenty steps back even when I take one tiny step forward. My early forties were my favorite time of my life so far.  My late forties, not so much.  My early forties were a time of accomplishment and fun and security.  My late forties are proving to be a time of starting over; from scratch really.  Not so much accomplishment and definitely not the greatest mental health.  But I’m trying.  I take my meds, I’ve lost a little weight, I brush my teeth and wash my face every day and I don’t live in pajamas 100% of the time.  Maybe 75%, but that’s not 100.  I think younger me would be encouraged. My 48th year is starting off as a year of change.  It’s going to take a long time to bounce back from the mistakes that have been made, but younger me would be encouraged for me.  She would be worried, but hopeful.  She would want for me to succeed and become more.  Happier, smarter, more accomplished and successful.

Just like this grown, scared, but encouraged me.  I am a survivor.  I will continue to survive myself.