It’s been a year since I didn’t become a better person. That’s 25 years running I haven’t come up with a new me.
Every January we beat ourselves up for not losing weight, not reinventing ourselves…for not managing our mental health.
I like to pretend everything is fine, but underneath…my bra strap is twisted.
A connection to someone with anxiety and depression is the thread that links us all.
Being human is hard. Life can beat you down with a bitch-slap, sucker punch, or good ‘ol dropkick to the cooter.
What happens when everytime you get back on your feet, life unleashes a Nancy Kerrigan blow to the knees?
What happens when you land yourself in hot water? Hard boiled on the outside, scrambled on the inside.
What happens when the ‘chill pills’ blow out your pilot light, mute your sound, dull your spark?
What happens when the people who’ve got your back simply aren’t enough?
I wonder if life smokes after it fucks me.
I’m tired of bending over. The next time my glass is half-empty, I’ll pour it into a smaller glass. I’ll remind myself that stress doesn’t go with this outfit.
The beauty is there’s always hope. There’s always room for new beginnings.
I recently congratulated a stranger on social media for feeling good about life, after being sucked into a spiral of depression. So much can change in a year.
People are rooting for you. The masses are cheering you on.
We are who we are because of our experiences, anguish and all.
Be present, be grateful, be kind. Give of yourself. Be yourself.
So dear friends, in 2018 we wish you peace, love, and sound mental health. Throw in some wine, orgasms, and a lottery win and we got ourselves a year.
New year, same me, because I’m already freakin’ fabulous!
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