It’s been a while.
In fact, it’s been that long I’d forgotten how to log into my own website and I think there’s a distinct possibility that I’ve forgotten how to write.
I fell out of love with it if truth be told. For a variety of reasons. Bitterness, laziness, lack of passion. However, I know that there was a time I loved writing. So, with that in mind, I’m (sort of) confident I can resurrect that passion once again.
2017 was a shite year. Actually, that’s a bit harsh. Nothing that bad really happened. I just liken it to a night out where you’re waiting for it to get going but that peak never arrives. It’s just been a bit ‘meh’.
I’ve spent an awful lot of 2017 reflecting. Reflecting on poor choices and the poor decisions I’ve made. And if I’m totally honest with myself, it’s left me feeling really quite despondent. Self-loathing is good for no one. I’m hoping that 2018 will see me in more of a positive state of mind. There are lots of things I’d like to achieve, but more on that later. If I can be arsed.
Over the last few days I’ve done a lot of scrolling. Scrolling through my various social media accounts and they’re full of people declaring either how amazing 2017 was for them or their resolutions for the new year, their hopes and dreams and their exciting plans.
And do you know what I feel when I scroll and I read?
I feel a lot of pressure. A lot of the time. And I’m not too sure why.
Going back to the self-loathing thing I mentioned earlier, I don’t like myself a lot. I really admire the people in life who can put their hand on their heart and declare they’re confident in themselves, their abilities and that they like the person they are. I admire them and I feel envious.
I know, deep down, I’m not a bad person. I just feel like I’m unsure of myself. Truth is, there’s nothing I’m very good at. Moreover, there’s nothing I ever stick at. And that doesn’t do wonders for my mental health.
I spent a great deal of 2017 battling with anxiety. I’ve written previously about my Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD), something I was diagnosed with 3 years ago following a breakdown.
In the main, it’s been controlled with drugs and therapy. However, the therapy finished 2 and a half years ago and I noticed part way through 2017 that the effects of the medication were beginning to wear off. I felt different. Bad different.
There are so many things I want to achieve this year. I’d love to learn to drive. I’d love to finally get to grips with my fear, slip behind the wheel and relish the independence I’d inevitably feel.
I’d love to get fit. Like properly fit. I’d love to pound the streets and enjoy that post-workout high. We’re constantly reminded about endorphins and exercise. The two go hand in hand.
Learning to cook is something I know would bring me a great source of joy. The feeling of accomplishment and pride.
And I’d love to take myself out of my comfort zone. A place I found myself in for the majority of 2017.
But you know what stops me from doing the aforementioned things?
I think too much.
I make too many excuses.
I can talk myself out of or into anything (usually things I shouldn’t be doing) with absolute ease. I am my own worst enemy. My thoughts are my foe.
Don’t think, just do.
That above sentence, that little pearl of wisdom is something I need to remember more. I need to ask myself “what’s the worst that can happen?”
I need to remind myself how good it feels when I’ve performed a work out or gone for a power walk or a run.
I need to remember that feeling I get when I’ve done something I feel proud of.
Because those feelings are addictive. And I have an addictive personality.
So surely, I can make these small changes that will inevitably herald huge results?
Laying in bed, beating myself up for hours on end isn’t a life. That’s an existence.
And I don’t want to exist. I want to live.