Yesterday was my birthday, and it was an awesome one, but I was dreading it. It marked 30 years feeling like I’ve accomplished so little—I honestly thought I’d have done more with my life at this point.
I don’t feel too much like it’s all my fault for being this and that; it’s not. I can’t help having mental health problems. This is how I am and I’ve had to make the most of it, as do we all. It just sucks, that’s all.
It’s not all bad.
On the bright side, I have accomplished some things too, even if the majority of that is personal growth; learning about the world, people, and of course myself. I also worked a lot on my mental health, passed a part-time college course, sorted my finances, lived in supported housing for about 2 years, and eventually got a place of my own.
The last 10 years have admittedly been a clusterfuck, but I’m hoping the next decade will hold some awesome new experiences and life lessons.
In some ways, I certainly feel stronger.