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An Interview
Jun. 17th, 2021 02:48 pm"We don't seek the painful experiences that hew our identities, but we seek our identities in the wake of painful experiences. We cannot bear a pointless torment, but we can endure great pain if we believe it is purposeful." - Andrew Solomon
This post feels a bit shallow for this quote, in retrospect, but I'm tired of giving up an entries just because they aren't perfect.
One of the most difficult things I've overcome in my life is something I fail to define. A mix of things at a very inconvenient time in my life, I guess. Dealing with myself. As a person, I spare no effort with balancing my capabilities as limited by human nature with my desire to learn and experience. To be here, to be who I am, and to be happy, I have come a long way. I have felt anguish, not in a traditional sense.
As a preteen, I feel I had very little time for anything but myself. I was diagnosed with anxiety, ADHD, OCD, and depression at different points throughout middle school, but I wasn't overly concerned with my condition. Prior to these diagnoses, I thought what I was feeling was normal and didn't think much of suicidal ideation, panic attacks, or even self harm. It was a confusing time. I was put on various medications in fleeting dosages, and by 9th grade I found myself struggling with drug addiction. I abused various stimulants over a span of three years, despite them making me feel completely emotionless. I wasn't completely crippled by it, but looking back I was definitely worse off than I should have been. I had no self-control, no emotional intelligence, and no objective thoughts about my circumstance. Only dissimulation and a mind that was mostly void of critical thought.
I did not make any active efforts to stop my stimulant abuse because I didn't very well understand it. Rather, I endured an agonizing withdrawal after I ran out of medication and dosage options, leaving me completely defeated. When my withdrawal subsided it was like waking from an intense dream, with only an awkward, repressed memory of the years previous. I felt like a fresh slate, in a way, free from the personally demanding mentalities I had acquired during my early teens. Although I still had to work around my remaining issues, I suddenly had time to be a person. I could exert energy on things that felt actually meaningful to me, and after reflecting on all I had been through, I began to forge an identity.
I don't look fondly back at the pain I endured in high school, but I don't hate what I went through either. Things are the way they are and I can't control that. If anything, it has only made me a stronger, smarter, more patient person in the end. And one of my favorite things about myself now is that I give myself time to take care of myself as I didn't before. I put a lot of emphasis on leisure. I'm nowhere near where I want to be, but I am functional. My identity is the product of knowing what it feels like to not have one. And now that I'm here, I can say I'm thankful for that.
This post feels a bit shallow for this quote, in retrospect, but I'm tired of giving up an entries just because they aren't perfect.
One of the most difficult things I've overcome in my life is something I fail to define. A mix of things at a very inconvenient time in my life, I guess. Dealing with myself. As a person, I spare no effort with balancing my capabilities as limited by human nature with my desire to learn and experience. To be here, to be who I am, and to be happy, I have come a long way. I have felt anguish, not in a traditional sense.
As a preteen, I feel I had very little time for anything but myself. I was diagnosed with anxiety, ADHD, OCD, and depression at different points throughout middle school, but I wasn't overly concerned with my condition. Prior to these diagnoses, I thought what I was feeling was normal and didn't think much of suicidal ideation, panic attacks, or even self harm. It was a confusing time. I was put on various medications in fleeting dosages, and by 9th grade I found myself struggling with drug addiction. I abused various stimulants over a span of three years, despite them making me feel completely emotionless. I wasn't completely crippled by it, but looking back I was definitely worse off than I should have been. I had no self-control, no emotional intelligence, and no objective thoughts about my circumstance. Only dissimulation and a mind that was mostly void of critical thought.
I did not make any active efforts to stop my stimulant abuse because I didn't very well understand it. Rather, I endured an agonizing withdrawal after I ran out of medication and dosage options, leaving me completely defeated. When my withdrawal subsided it was like waking from an intense dream, with only an awkward, repressed memory of the years previous. I felt like a fresh slate, in a way, free from the personally demanding mentalities I had acquired during my early teens. Although I still had to work around my remaining issues, I suddenly had time to be a person. I could exert energy on things that felt actually meaningful to me, and after reflecting on all I had been through, I began to forge an identity.
I don't look fondly back at the pain I endured in high school, but I don't hate what I went through either. Things are the way they are and I can't control that. If anything, it has only made me a stronger, smarter, more patient person in the end. And one of my favorite things about myself now is that I give myself time to take care of myself as I didn't before. I put a lot of emphasis on leisure. I'm nowhere near where I want to be, but I am functional. My identity is the product of knowing what it feels like to not have one. And now that I'm here, I can say I'm thankful for that.
