MISSION SIX: Raising the Bar

I celebrated five months of being on drugs this month.

I realize that information may seem less than uplifting to the average person, but I am damn proud of it. Five months: still high as a kite, still going strong! In terms of my illness, I have even become a little arrogantly oblivious. I pat myself on the back consistently, reminding myself how I beat the tar out of my depression and left it's corpse-- which had been violently pummeled by the righteous force of my vengeful fists-- dying in a pool of its own blood behind me. Sometimes in these visions, I heroically ride into the sunset on horseback; other times, via motorcycle. It all depends on my mood and the movie I watched most recently.

Sadly, this victorious delusion is just that. While my mood and general mental processes have found an appropriate and even superior sense of equilibrium, there is still a great deal of collateral damage left over from the "not-so-happy" times. The "life sucks" times. The "I am a gigantic piece of garbage that should be six feet (or farther) under" times. Oh, sweet memories of youth... While I can proudly say that I have been attacking my life like gangbusters and getting so busy that I am loathe to even find time to sit and write this brief article, I have noticed one prominent and quite appalling issue that I will have to add to my list of things to do (over)-- My version of Me. What that even means, I don't know.

My self-opinion seems to be totally fine. I am here, I am just, I'm a decent person, and I accept myself for who I am. Go me. (I'm not the cheerleader type, so I didn't use an exclamation point there). I'm happy, and life is good. Yet, therein lies the problem. I have accepted life as merely "good." I expect nothing more. I spend time with awesome people, I indulge in multifarious passions and hobbies, I work my ass off trying to make something of myself, but at the same time, I don't see any payoff nor any finish line after any of it. I simply do for the sake of doing. Somewhere along the line, I stopped believing that anything is possible-- 'anything' being the basic necessities of life that make it worth living. I can't quite envision myself receiving the proper rewards that come to someone who, I dunno, drove herself to the point of exhaustion in the quest for some kind of socially beneficial contribution. Whereas in the past, I lived only for tomorrow-- kicking my ass for emergence into that sacred light at the end of the tunnel-- I now have a tendency to just lie down in the middle of the road and count the pretty cars that roll over me. I mean, it's cool. That's life. I accept it. I'm just happy to be here. Nice transmission, by the way.