I have had exactly one New Year’s Eve party that I really enjoyed – I was 16 years old, at a friend’s party, and kissed the guy I liked at midnight. Of course nothing came from that kiss other than a really awkward “date” that happened a few weeks later. But since then, I’ve yet to have any other memorable times ringing in the new year nor have I found any traditions that I actually like.
New Years Resolutions are one of those traditions that I don’t really like and never really seem to last the entire year. Or at least, mine rarely have – not one resolution I made for 2015 actually happened… Resolutions are often vague in some sense – lose weight, organize living space, enjoy life more, spend more time with family.
This year though, and I know I’m a couple days late to the game, I’m planning to do more than just survive. With depression and anxiety, survival can be hard some days. It takes significantly more out of me to do things like shower, eat, be motivated to do more than just sleep. And with living in such a dreary and overcast place during the winter, seasonal affective disorder also comes into play.
I want to remember what it was like to really be alive and not just exist with an emptiness that’s constantly filling my chest. I want to be me again – the person who laughed, who found the good in everything, who wanted to travel and experience things, who read like there was no tomorrow. I want that person back because depression and anxiety has taken that away from me. And I want to be unapologetic in who I am – which includes rejecting the diet industry that clearly hates my existence as a fat person.
One day soon I’ll write down all the things I still want to do and find the ways to get them done. And I’m going to stop comparing myself to others because so far, that’s gotten me nothing but self pity.