Zander's Inside Voice

I lived almost a thousand miles from where I live now.

I was finalizing my retirement from the Air Force.

I was deciding what the rest of my life was going to look like.

I was having horrific nightmares every night.

I was scared of everything.

I had recently learned how to manage my panic a little better.

I was on no medication.

I had no official mental health diagnoses.

I was ending the life I was living to please everyone else.

I hadn’t been in therapy in over two years.

I was beginning the most epic relationship of my entire life.

I stepped away from everyone’s expectations of me and finally started living.

I was preparing for a life that felt foreign without the Air Force.

I was leaving toxicity behind.

I started finding my voice.

Sometimes I feel like giving up because some days feel really hard. The days are getting shorter and with less light and warmth, I sink into a depressive state where functioning requires much more effort than I can find. I have good days and bad days. I think it’s harder now because the difference between “more light” me and seasonally affected me is so big. When I was struggling all the time, I couldn’t figure out when it got worse and then eventually better. Feeling yourself begin the inevitable slide sucks. I know this is going to happen. And I know that I might be really sad soon. I might stop blogging. I might start napping every day. I might just sit and stare off into space. I tried antidepressants before, but everything we tested had some other terrible side effect that sucked more than just feeling sad. Plus it was capping me into this weird middle ground where I felt nothing. I don’t like that at all. It’s very triggering to me because I feel completely disassociated and that’s how I survived my childhood and adult trauma and pain. Once I found a way to feel my pain, I didn’t want to let go of feeling things again. It felt better to be hopelessly depressed than to feel absolutely nothing. Although feeling the pain really hurts, feeling the highs that my new life offers is worth all that pain. It’s so much less pain than I felt two-three years ago.

Realizing where I was two years ago helps me see that I am on the right path, though. I can do this. I can survive this because I have already survived much worse.