First of all, I have never known what I am supposed to be doing with my life. Like, never ever. 

That’s a big part of why I just coasted through school. Granted, I am not by nature an ambitious and focused person. My basic nature is far more slack and impromptu than that.  Those people who have known since they were a kid exactly what they want out of life and vigorously pursue that from the beginning kind of freak me out. 

Like, how can you be so sure? Things change. People change. Priorities change. Everything changes. So how can you commit to such a long term plan that it starts in frigging kindergarten? 

My theory is that the feeling of security and focus and a sure and certain future is what keeps the plan going. No need to doubt, or second-guess, or do any of the other things lesser beings do. 

Nope! It’s full steam ahead and no looking sideways. 

Anyhow, my point is that I am not that kind of person. I have always rated low on ambition and initiative. I am too invested in maximizing person autonomy and possibilities to go gangbusters for any plan. 

But I am definitely a dreamer. And when I am following a dream I have come to love, I have all the ambition I could ever need. 

But nobody in my life ever suggested a dream I could fall in love with to me when I was young. There I was with all that intellectual and creative potential but nobody ever even asked me what I planned to do with it all, let along suggested anything. 

Maybe I scared people. I don’t know. 

So I coasted. Even when I finally went to university, I had no actual idea what the hell I wanted to do with my life. 

I mean, I went there with the vague idea that I would be an accoutant but somehow completely failed to sign up for any business courses at all. 

Turns out being super good at something doesn’t make you want it. 

And then I got taken out of my school by selfish parents and went very crazy and got quite sick and only through sheer force of will managed to drag myself out of that state and get to the point where instead of being utterly bugfuck crazy, I was merely severely depressed. 

Aaaand that’s where I have been ever since. 

Part of my depression is that I feel like such a worthless useless loser for not having done anything with my life despite being 45 years old now. 

This is the time of life when healthy people are at the height of their careers and have the kids and the home and the white picket fence and all dat. 

Me…. I got nuthin’.  I am a total loser. 

But that’s stinkin’ thinkin’. That is entirely the wrong way to look at it. I have been judging myself like that for a long time and it has to stop. 

Because here is the truth : I am doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing, namely recuperating. 

Or even just surviving. No intelligent person would expect any more of me. Society, such as it is, just wants me to try to get healthy again. 

Because I am a very ill man, and nobody expects sick people to perform exactly like healthy people no matter how ill they are. 

So comparing myself to healthy people is absurd. If those people had my issues, they would be in the same boat as I am. They are no better or worse than I am. They are just lucky enough to be healthy. 

So the truth is that I am doing just fine. I am a survivor. I make it through every day despite all the chemical madness in my head and that takes a lot of courage, strength, and force of will. 

And I am doing what I can to get healthy.  I go to therapy no matter what. I take my meds. I tippity tap type my words into this thing every day. And I challenge my depression’s assumptions every chance I get. 

And that’s all I can do. I want to be able to do a whole lot more.  Part of me is still vital and alive and has all the “get out there and prove yourself” instincts that drive healthy people to launch their careers. 

But the cruel and unpalatable truth is that the world of the healthy is not for me. I live in the world of the disabled. That sadly involves a severe curtailing of expectations. 

And as a product of the middle class, lowering expectations is a brutal and agonizing thing to have to do. 

Sometimes, in order to get better, we have to set some of our dreams on fire then watch them burn to the ground. 

I still believe that some day, I will be able to make a living with my creative skills. That’s not the issue. 

But I have to learn to accept that I might never catch up with my cohort. That I may remain a weak and fragile person and will never have the sort of robust engagement with reality that I dream of. 

This might be it. This life I am leading right now.  This might well be as good as it gets for me.  Video games. Sugar free snacks. Hanging with my friends three times a week. Writing this a-here blog thingy every day. 

That might be all I am capable of. All I will ever be capable of. 

And if that thought horrifies me – and it does – then that can be my well of inspiration to get things done. 

And if that’s not enough motivation, that is fine too. 

Because I am doing what I am supposed to be doing. 

I am making it through the day and doing the best I can to get better. 

And that’s all anyone could ever ask of me.