Sometimes it’s difficult for me to do things.
By that, I mean there are days when I feel more like a dysfunctional brick than a sentient human. On these days I breathe existential crises and eat nihilism for breakfast. I don’t talk to anyone. There doesn’t seem to be much of a point to anything, and so I go around in a haze – often staring for hours at a time at whatever’s in front of me, waiting for it to morph into something meaningful.
But I’m trying. Sometimes I don’t try as hard as other days. Some days I don’t feel as though I’ve tried at all. But the good days are almost more than the bad days now, so I tend to feel brighter on the inside than I would have previously. And family, friends, acquaintances in my life keep randomly reaching out to me when I least expect it to tell me something good about myself, something to motivate me, something about how I’ve touched their lives in some way during the times I’m thinking I couldn’t possibly be more useless. They’re helping me try.
Sometimes, it’s difficult for me to do things, but I feel as though I’ve done more in the last two months (for myself) than I’ve done all year. And I’ve got a little fire sparked in me to do better next year. I’m going to try to keep that alive.
It’s going to keep being difficult for me to do things. But I’m going to keep trying. Because I’ve found that I like the kind of person I become when I try.