Unfulfilled potential

About two weeks ago, I celebrated my 22nd birthday. I can’t quite grasp it yet. On the one hand, I feel like I’m still 16, desperately counting down the days till 18. Yet on the other hand, I feel like I’ve already lived a bunch and see 25 inching ever closer. It is difficult because while I don’t care one bit about getting older, I’m starting to feel the weight of the last few years more and more, feeling like I’ve barely accomplished anything. It is absolutely suffocating, this unfulfilled potential.

All my life, I’ve struggled to find my place in the world, a place where I fit in. And even though I know that I’m still young and probably have a long life ahead of me, it is incredibly frustrating. I’ve juggled trying to get better with trying to find that spot and I can’t seem to manage it. I feel like I’ve been grasping at straws this whole time, always focussing on the wrong thing.

See, for about ten years now, my life has been hugely dominated by a crippling depression that I never quite managed to fight off for very long. Perhaps I’ve let it define me a little bit too much, because I could not find a good way to deal and it turned into an all consuming pit of despair. But I can’t remember the last time I didn’t describe myself without ever mentioning this debilitating disease.

And then, at 21½, I caught covid right as I was coming out of a very bad episode. Bad timing. To make matters worse, it turned into long-covid. But even though this has been one of the more frustrating things I’ve had to deal with, I’d be amiss if I didn’t say that I am glad it happened. Sort of anyway.

For so long now, I’ve struggled to show up for myself. There were good times, sure. But to be honest most of the time I was but a shell of a person, living in constant survival mode. And suddenly there I was, desperate to cling onto any sliver of hope I could find. Determined not to let my physical health impair the little progress I had made. So I devised a little plan to keep busy and get healthy, at least with the little energy I had. Trying to find things that mattered to me so that I wouldn’t get discouraged and slip up.

It certainly hasn’t been easy, but I’m very proud of the progress I’ve made. Because I can say that despite a couple of bad days here and there, I haven’t had a depressive episode in well over five months. That is huge. There have barely been any times I’ve managed to make it past two, let alone three. And now I’m closing in on half a year.

As much as I wish I could celebrate this major milestone, it is terrifying. Like I mentioned before, this illness has ruled my life for nearly a decade and I honestly don’t know who I am without it. I’m also deeply saddened by the fact that I was so hard on my younger self that I never managed to make it this far before and it feels like such a waste. It has effectively robbed me of my teenage years, my young adulthood and prevented me from getting a diploma. All things that make it difficult to progress further into adulthood. Because I simply do not know how people do that. I’m closing in on year four, yet I feel like a little kid. And I get dizzy when I try to look more than two months into the future.

I am very much aware of the fact that I’m on a drastically different route than my peers. And although I try not to let that influence me, it isn’t exactly easy. The fact that so many people do not seem to understand this and try to be encouraging by pointing that out, doesn’t exactly help matters much. In fact, it is anxiety inducing. So much so that I took a chance on something that caused me so much stress and sleep deprivation in such little time, that I feel like I am throwing in the towel by not pursuing it further despite knowing it isn’t that dramatic. At least I tried, which is quite a step. And it doesn’t erase the progress I’ve made.

Perhaps I should look at it as a good sign, seeing as I’m quite vigilant about protecting my well-being. Perhaps this is me finally showing up for myself regardless of other people’s expectations. Finally making good on that promise to put myself first. Took me long enough.

I have to be realistic because as much as I might like to go back to school at some point, I simply don’t see that happening in the near future. Not with this much anxiety. On the one hand that is a tough pill to swallow because I know that I possess the intellect. Hence feeling like I’m wasting my potential — at least I’ve been told as much. On the other hand, it is freeing, because I’m more determined than ever to make something of this journey called life. To figure out a system that works for me and set up something I can be proud of. Whatever that may turn out to be.

I love writing, I love photography, I love art. And I’ve recently started to dip into filmmaking a little bit. Most of what I have created over the last year, I’ve purposefully kept to myself because I was afraid of other people’s judgement. But I’m starting to realise more and more that I’ll get judged regardless. So what the hell. I’m putting myself and my art out there and if anything comes out of it that’s great. Otherwise I’ll still have a creative outlet to pour my heart and soul into and I’d say that’s worth at least as much. I want to create for the sake of creating. Not to accomplish a blurry goal that might not even take form. Or to please an algorithm.

I’m guessing it all comes down to personal perspective whether you look at it through a lens of potential or defeat. I’m not going to lie and say that it doesn’t scare me to death. But I can not allow myself to keep getting caught in a web of self doubt either. I feel like I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. I can only wilfully talk about the here and now, because the uncertainty of the future is too much to comprehend.

So I can’t comment on the fact whether I’ll turn out to be stupid or brave. But I say: let me be brave. Allow me to regain the courage to dream. And let me figure out a sustainable way to live and to fulfil those dreams. To actually start living again. I don’t want to be a burden, though I already feel like one most of the time. But I do know that I desperately need to find that solution. I don’t know that I can forgive myself if I don’t. Like I’ve said before: I have to stay true to myself and that includes vigilantly protecting my well-being.

You know what, if there’s one thing that I have to show for 21, it’s that perseverance pays off. It took many more months than I had hoped for, but what’s a few months in the grand scheme of things? I’m starting to get my life back, to get me back. And I don’t care what anyone says, but that is worth so much more than any stupid little piece of paper or a vaguely imagined timeline. It most certainly has not been smooth sailing and I’m not fully there yet, but I have come a very long way and anyone that is unable to see that can go to hell. And by the way, who says that there’s a specific way in which I need to fulfil my potential?

So I say: let me be brave — or at the very least: just let me be.