I’m sort of proud of this post. It’s a little too close to home for me to be entirely proud but I’m settling for a little proud. I’ve re-posted it before but I’ve been caught up in my life and essentially just trying to hang on as the hot mess express barrels through it so I haven’t been writing. I want to get back to it and thought what better inspiration than a post I really enjoyed writing?
If I still have any followers, hello! If not, well I get it and we all move on with our lives.
I kind of went MIA in October and I tend to do that, have big goals and just disappear when things pile up. I relentlessly criticize myself at a normal base level but it increases when I don’t meet the high expectations I set for myself. This validates the things I already feel about myself and I consider myself a failure and just close myself off. It’s kind of like when you have a fort and it is invaded by people seeking to do damage, except I am that person and to protect myself from any vulnerability to the impulsive or unintended choices of those outside of the fort walls, I close the gate and trap the worst offender in, accepting there will be a max level of damage I can do to myself.
Screwed up. I know. I’m all kinds of screwed up and I’ve been working on that for a long time. I’m not sure if that is a reflection of how ineffectual I am at becoming a functional human being or how screwed up I was at the beginning of the process.
Anyways, when I am not doing so well on a psychological level, one of the most damaging but, ironically, also protective measures I automatically kick into gear is a set of cold, silver (as I see them), heavy metal walls that drop with a deafening and absolute thud. Nothing is getting through but I’m also not getting out. Sometimes this goes so far that I struggle to force myself to respond to my surroundings, such as acknowledging people speaking to me. In my experience, that can become tense, which slips into a heated conversation and, before you know it, it’s volatile and I have more damage to account for than if I had quit while ahead.
Your basic mal-adaptive behavior. Anyways, I’m a little better. And like every time, hoping this is the time that I manage to put protections in place to prevent doing this to myself to this extent again. And knowing that will probably be futile despite my stubborn will at present. I just never seem to be stronger than the forces of depression, PTSD, and all of the ghosts of memories crawling along my skin.
If you’re reading this on your phone, I suggest turning it on its side and reading it that way because it looks better and is much more palatable.
I know I already posted the interview today but I saw this article and had to link to it because I have been seeing a lot of people echo this in regards to their personal experiences and I think we don’t discuss it enough as a society. It seems as if we always have enough energy and time to make simplistic statements about how suicide is a “permanent solution to a temporary problem” and those struggling with suicidal ideation simply need to “get help” as if there is some infallible checklist and, if they just complete it, they won’t commit suicide.
I think about suicide, a lot, and I think the reason people are eager to write it off with a simple fix-all suggestion but don’t have the same attention and interest in taking an honest look at the state of mental health in our society, is the same thing I have realized in a dragged-out, exhaustive few years of trying to help myself and get help for suicidal ideation: suicide is such a complicated thing and trying to understand it requires going down the rabbit hole. There you find yourself caught in an overwhelming, chaotic Wonderland that unsews the fabric of your mind and resews it asymmetrically.
While I do enjoy the concept of Wonderland, I can appreciate why people prefer the simple reasoning of “if a person feels suicidal, then he just has to do this and he won’t be suicidal anymore” to a world that turns all of that reasoning upside down and inside out to the point you can’t form any definitive opinions on it–because there are no set logical rules that govern suicidal ideation. You have to be really comfortable with ambiguity and willing to accept the dissatisfaction of not being able to write out a solution and file it away as a job well done–or you just have to experience suicidal thoughts and what it is like to try to do anything about them.
This article is important and I think you should read it so I won’t go further than my personal experience because I could ramble and turn this over in my mind a hundred times today, which I probably will. But what I will say is that my experience corroborates the questions and argument Sarah Schuster is making. All aspects of my life–in terms of getting an advanced education, being an athlete all through college, exercising, taking medication regularly–fit the description of things people say you can do to ward off mental illness. I did them and enjoyed it–and they didn’t work. They don’t magically ward off depression like some silver bullet because suicide is so much bigger than what my extracurriculars were in high school and college, what is on my resume now, or what I do on the weekends. We sell these easier narrative that mental illness is the fault of the individual–they aren’t self-disciplined enough, they are snowflakes, dramatic, all of things that give society a pass from seeing this really pervasive and severe thing that drastically affects people’s lives. But time and time again we see depression doesn’t discriminate and you can try to avoid it, and some people succeed, but you choose it no more than you’d choose to be born into a violent home. It’s just there and it’s all you’ve ever seen and it gets a bracingly strong grip on you before you get the chance to choose.
I have an extensive history of trauma. I started showing mental health symptoms in college when it just felt like my legs were cut out from under me. Suddenly the way I had metaphorically walked in my life had to be entirely different. The way I experienced the world and my vantage point was entirely different. And the problem was, like most people who experience mental illness, I didn’t have any background in that and had no idea how to fix myself. I kept trying to will myself to be able to do everything like I always had, to be this well-rounded and just very capable and whole person, all while being certain I had never actually been that person. So I would promise people things and take on responsibilities I believed I could manage–because I had been able to do it my entire life and because I so passionately wanted to. And I still haven’t found an answer to that.
I have a really, really strong passion for life and certain things. When I get glimpses of my actual self between episodes of mental illness, I burn with and emit heat, passion, and enthusiasm for the things that are important to me. But it doesn’t matter how much you love the water and how much experience you have boating or how much you want to embrace the blessing of wind and sail–if there is a substantial hole in your schooner, you’re not going to get very far. Depression is my hole. It is the hole in which I hide and this spiritual, mental, and emotional puncture from which all of the effort, energy, will, belief, and passion I want to channel towards things sometimes leaks and other times pours. And I have tried a lot of ways to fix that hole. And sometimes, if I am lucky, I can repair it just long enough to believe the sinking is behind me and to get a taste of what it feels like to sail on a gorgeous, windy day. But my mental illness is acid; give it time and it will erode or eat or find some way to destroy any repair.
So in spite of the fact that I was about to complete my second master’s degree and third degree in the eight years since I had graduated high school, one day when I was on my way to my graduate assistantship, I needed to abruptly find somewhere to pull over on a side street like you do when somebody is about to vomit in your car. I put my head against the steering wheel and felt as if somebody kicked me in the gut and was squeezing my heart so hard I thought I’d burst, ear drums and all. All along, the part of me that doesn’t fit the stereotype of depression was sitting on my shoulder telling me to calm down (because of course it would be so easy from her worldview). I tried to make reason outweigh the physical sensations telling me I was standing in a pit as all of the pillars I had tried to build in my life crashed deafeningly down into a heap of ruin.
I tried to call my ex and he was at work so he didn’t answer. So I called my mom who was with my cousin, five hours away in my hometown. They were having lunch and she answered the phone with a laugh in her voice and said, “hey baby!” which is what she calls me when she’s feeling good because I’m the second and youngest child. Because I feel so much pressure to carry out this facade that I don’t need anything and have it together in a family where it has been common for my brother and cousins to drop out of high school, I wasn’t and still do not tell my family how much I struggle because I don’t want to burden them or wallow in the privilege I have accrued since I went to college, making my problems seem laughable and weak in comparison to their own.
Needless to say, she was not expecting that call. I put my head against the cracked steering wheel of my car and I sobbed and hyperventilated, not being able to determine what my next step should be so I could get back to work and be functional like everybody else. It felt as if there was some bacteria rapidly eating away at my brain. If you asked me to tell you where the epicenter of that bacteria is, I could without hesitation point to the part of my head where I swear I can physically feel it at times. Somehow–and I can’t remember how–I managed to call the campus psychiatrist I had been seeing for months and make an emergency appointment. Surprised to see me in that raw of a state, he told me I needed to skip my evening class, in spite of the fact that I had a group presentation, and go to the emergency room immediately. I agreed to go but said I didn’t want to abandon my group so first I was able to give them my materials for the presentation’s activity and what they needed to be able to do the presentation without me, all with a suffocating heap of regret, guilt, and shame.
Then I went to the hospital where I sat from 5pm to 4am and was seen by a doctor who, clearly, had to stop more immediate problems like actual bleeding, and emptily asked if I had a plan and all of your basic suicide checklist questions. Then a social worker who was equally professional and distant came in and talked to me about how I was doing, if I had calmed down, what was upsetting me and my plans for going home, getting a good night’s rest, accepting where I was and beginning to rebuild from there. By this time, ashamed and feeling as if I should, I gave them the lighter versions of where I was emotionally. I had tried to convey how seriously and painfully this situation was hitting me but when their concern did not seem to match the intensity of my belief that I was better off dead and just needed to actualize the inevitable, I resigned and toned it down to say what I knew needed to be said so they could feel as if they had done everything needed to avoid liability. Two women from this volunteer crisis organization came in and talked to me. They were much more genuine and made me sign a plan that they would call me at the same time every day and if I didn’t answer, they or the social worker would call the police and send them to my apartment for a wellness check. It felt as if I had broken curfew and was grounded and couldn’t be trusted; which, given the potential danger they thought I could pose on myself, was fair. But it also made me feel as worthless and an inappropriate burden as I thought. They gave me materials to think about a daily outpatient 8-5 therapy program to properly address my illness and said we could talk about it the following day.
Nobody ever called me. Ever. Thankfully I lived with my ex who was finishing up his training to be a clinical and mental health counselor. He called the hospital and the numbers we had been provided and they were all dead ends. I just slept for a few days until I could trust my hands to not give in to these strong desires and then, like a coward, I slunk back into my work and my life. I’ve been in the neighborhood of that severe a moment point a few times since. I’ve called and chatted and communicated with the emergency services numbers. A few times they talked to me long enough that I was so distracted by the conversation I relaxed and could sleep off the heightened anxiety. There have been other times I waited so long I gave up and did something like emotionally drag myself out of the house for a walk to avoid what I thought was inevitable if I was alone. Other times I walked away from reaching out feeling just as misunderstood and dismissed as I felt that day at the hospital. (It varies and although it should certainly receive more support in order to do its job, it is a wonderful resource and I encourage you to use it if you need to do so; I might not be here without it. I don’t know).
What I will say is a card or a handout or a phone number, as much as we want to feel comforted by the delusion that is all we need to fix suicidal people, is only part of the answer for most of us and it is so much more daunting than you could know if you haven’t been there (and I mean there as in more than the what-if questions we ask about our lives and worth and suicide at some point in our lives). It’s hard and the hardest part about it, is I feel as if I live in a world that thinks I am weird and broken and of less value because I am this way and as if I am stuck on my pain and not willing or able to move past it like others. In my opinion, that is why people kill themselves. It is because they are trapped on the top floor of a burning building but people walk by on their lunch hour without feeling the oppressive heat from it because, in their world which is supposed to be the grounded world, there is no fire. And when you are trapped in a burning building that is rapidly chasing you to the top and there are no fire crews or emergency services coming to get out, and everybody thinks a pail of water will do for your imaginary spark, you sit there and try to decide between the agony of burning alive or taking your chances and escaping it, even if that means you probably won’t survive.
I clearly had more on my mind than I thought today and it just kind of poured out of me as I tried to write what I anticipated would be a two paragraph plug for this article and its finer points. If you feel this way and to you the world is burning, know that I believe you and I acknowledge how scary and blisteringly, scorchingly painful this moment is for you. And I hope you find a way to delay your fire long enough to put it out. If you need to spit out your own suicidal thoughts manifesto like I just did, I’ll read it if you need to say it to somebody.
A Mighty feature by Sarah Schuster.
Again, if you need help: if you just type suicide in google, the first hit should be your country’s suicide hotline (which is of course incredibly sensible). If you’re in the United States, you can start here.
Me: How did that change our relationship?
Michael: I think it changed for the better. I think we realized we were meant to be friends and were oil and water. But we also realized through everything we have a strong friendship.
Me: But how do you think it changed things when we were still a couple for that last year?
Michael: Oh yeah. I forget we were still a couple after that.
Me: Which is funny because when I was writing that intro earlier, I was trying to explain there are no cut-and-dry, black-and-white lines in our relationship, that I felt like it ended then but we just never said the words and were technically together for another year. That’s why I think I have been able to forgive myself and forgive you for some of the things that, in more typical circumstances, could have been hurtful but weren’t as important given where we were.
Michael: Right. You were stubborn about it and tried to convince yourself it could work from September 15 to August 16 and then I kind of noticed you had gotten to the point I’d been at for a while where you knew it was over but didn’t want to say it. I’d say I didn’t know for sure until early October when we broke up and you started sharing some of your thoughts with me that I knew you’d been ready to move on with your life for a while.
Me: All things considered, in spite of the fact that you determined you were bisexual or gay and wanted to experiment, how did you feel that towards the end of our relationship I was really checking out, especially since–and I think it’s fair to say–I had always been the more committed one?
Michael: I felt hurt. I started seeing it slowly happen in September. I felt a little hurt but also felt more relief because I realized I didn’t feel as guilty for our history.
Me: Do you care if I ask if you were still doing the chatting thing during the last month or so of our relationship? Because I felt like you didn’t really stop after that summer in 2015 but I haven’t really been concerned enough to think about it. Also, know I don’t care if you did.
Michael: I don’t know. I might have been but I might not have been even though I did before. A lot of things just blend together now and it’s hard to remember things concretely.
Me: Were you angry with me that I was quitting? I actually don’t know this one,
Michael: Initially, yes but when I paused and realized how long you’d been trying to make it work and how much we had been through, I started realizing it was only fair that you got to move on and I was relieved you were starting to think of it considering I thought if we ended things you would have been hurt for a really long time.
Me: Is there anything you would change about how all of this happened? Things I did or said? Things you did or said?
Michael: I think the one thing I would change is telling you sooner and not be afraid that you would react in a way that I couldn’t handle. And just not do the stuff I did and be up front and honest with you.
Me: Why did you think I would react like that? Which is fair, I’m kind of a hothead.
Michael: I felt that despite your acceptance of LGBT people in general, in that situation your emotions would run high and you wouldn’t be as tolerant because it was too personal. Oh, I have my meeting soon.
Me: Okay we can wrap this up and talk later but just making sure, are you okay?
Michael: I’m just a little, I don’t know, sad.
Michael: Because I wish I had just done things differently. That I hadn’t done some of the more hurtful things.
Me: Ehh, I think the one thing this has taught me is relationships are messy and if you’re going to let yourself care about somebody that much, you have to accept that there will be some lack of congruence between your feelings and them needing to be free-willed humans who are just figuring things out. I did things too that I think I will always wish I could be different, that I will be afraid define me which is why I still always feel like I have to atone or I want to talk about it, walk through the things I might have done on my side but I think I’m taking a page from your book on this one and accepting that some things, like your identity and these questions regarding your sexuality, are bigger and eclipse the things that are maybe influenced by it.
Michael: Yeah, I agree. I think that’s why I have gotten to a point where I don’t feel guilty anymore and it makes me feel, I don’t know, more free or more relieved. I just didn’t think you would get to the same point and so now that you have and that you’re not caught up on things I did wrong or you did wrong like you were when we were still together and you were hurt, it can actually feel like it doesn’t have to be as big of a thing.
Michael had a meeting to get to so we ended the conversation but we may finish it up later this week or month and he is going to be writing his own guest-post as a follow-up. If he finishes it today (9 years of experience suggests that won’t happen), I will post it tomorrow. If not, I have my own ready to go.
Me (awkward because we’ve been on the phone for 30 minutes now): …hi.
Me: This is the most awkward conversation I think we’ve ever had and that includes when you told me you were questioning.
Michael: Want me to talk in a Trump voice so it’s great? What do you want to know about me that you don’t already know?
Me: Is there anything you think I don’t know that you would be comfortable telling me? I feel like if it is important, I know it.
Michael: I think I’ve known longer than what I probably told you… that I was just in denial of my own sexuality but also didn’t want to accept it because I knew it would hurt you. But then I realized it was hurting you from not telling you and hurting me as well.
Me: Can you explain more how it hurt you?
Michael: I think being in denial just limited my options in what I should do. I loved you during that time but like you said before, I didn’t embrace it in fear I wouldn’t have support or anybody left because I was afraid I would lose you. So I didn’t give myself the chance to do anything about it and instead had this thing I was afraid of.
Me: Did you ever try to tell me and change your mind before I knew?
Michael: Yeah. I tried to play it off like I was joking but now looking back it was just my way of slowly accepting and testing the waters to see how you would respond. Like do you remember when we were watching Will & Grace junior year and I acted like I was confessing to be gay? I don’t think I knew at that time but I was playing with it.
Me: How did you expect me to react when you imagined telling me?
Michael: I was afraid you’d throw something at me–get upset, and walk out and never talk to me ever again. Just get really pissed off and that would have devastated me because the one person I knew I could trust and who would support me leaving would make me feel like I lost everything. I thought even if my parents might not accept me when I finally told them, I’d still have you so it would be okay.
Me: Wait, you thought I would get physically aggressive?
Michael: No. I don’t mean that. I mean I do but I don’t. What I mean is I always had it built up in my head like it was going to be this big, scary thing and that’s just what I imagined. I was anxious about it so what I imagined was worse than I knew it would be.
Me: How long do you think you knew before I knew?
Michael: I think I knew maybe six months before I told you, so maybe around January to March 2015 I knew.
Me: What was the tipping point? Was it gradual or did it hit you all at once?
Michael: I think when I realized, I noticed I was checking out men too, just noticing them.
Me: Did you ever think about just living with it and marrying me and not telling me? We were getting to the point where we were starting to deal with the inevitable engagement questions.
Michael: Yes. I didn’t want to hurt you and I loved you and thought we would be together for forever so I was just going to keep it to myself. But then I realized that over the course of our relationship, there were a lot of…
Michael: Yes, murky times where I didn’t know if the conversations I was having with women were cheating or not cheating but they felt wrong. But I still kept feeling like I needed to do it. Then I started having them with men. It seemed like I just kept gravitating towards that our whole relationship.
Me: What do you think made you do it before it involved men?
Michael: I think I knew and have always known but was in denial and thought if I talked to women online then I could prove to myself I was straight.
Me: Were you physically attracted to me then?
Michael: Yes. But I wasn’t sure if it was just you.
Me: So if you were dating a woman, why do you think you needed to do that to make sure you were interested in women?
Michael: It’s hard to explain. Maybe I was trying to make sure I wasn’t just attracted because of our emotional relationship and that I was attracted to women in general.
Me: Makes sense. That’s what I think you told me before. I’m going to change gears if you are okay with that. Let’s talk about when you came out.
Michael: You were the first person. I didn’t even tell Matt. I think he had an idea but I never said it to anybody else.
Me: Can you walk me through how it happened when I found out?
Michael: I remember when you came across some of the conversations I was having. We were searching for your car keys and you picked up my Ipod touch. When it lit up from being picked up, it had all of these message notifications on the home screen and that’s how you knew. It was really hard. I felt like my life was ending but also it felt relieving, like a weight was lifting off my shoulders, all while the world was crashing down. If that makes sense.
Me: What do you think of how I responded?
Michael: I think you responded a lot better than I thought you would.
Me: Even though I was mad about the secret conversations?
Michael: Yeah. I remember a lot of crying, mostly mine, and you were really, really angry and hurt because it was cheating to you. That’s what you were focused on. You rose your voice about the cheating and were hurt. You didn’t seem to even notice it wasn’t all women.
Me: How did I respond when you told me you might like men?
Michael: It was like an angry aha moment, like that explains everything but you were afraid and when you get afraid, you get angry. I got the death glare and I think after we talked some, you walked stormed off because you needed to process. It was like you knew but when it was actually there and it might change everything, you needed time to process. You didn’t want to say much until you had I think. On some level though, I think you were relieved.
I think before, you thought I was just doing something I don’t know shitty because this had happened a few times earlier years in our relationship and it was happening again. You were more understanding when you realized why I was maybe doing it. As much as you didn’t want to believe it, you were more understanding and you seemed more supportive and aware.
Me: Did you expect me, being mad about the sort of cheating, to tell everybody and “out” you?
Michael: That was another fear of mine when I imagined telling you but I knew you could do it but that you’d understand and wouldn’t do it to me. No matter what. You might tell somebody in confidence to talk and process but I didn’t think you’d blow it wide open.
There is a second part of this interview that you can follow here. Also, if you have any questions or comments, please feel free to leave them below or email them at firstname.lastname@example.org.
With that being said, he is a big reason I want to do OUTtober and Blogtober together this month. It made me realize that while I can get heated about things like same-sex marriage and other LGBTQ rights, I have a lot to learn and still have some subconscious biases that I need to continue to address. Because of this, I want to use this project as a learning opportunity and a means of becoming a better friend, peer, and community member. Although we are from different geographic areas, we both come from backgrounds where LGBT rights and social issues are not given the recognition or respect they should receive. As social media has shown us, there are plenty of people will never behave towards the LGBT community with any decency or respect. There are also, however, a lot of people who are prejudiced (which is still wrong) because it is unfamiliar to them and they haven’t had to grapple with it.
I don’t have a ton of readers. Quite frankly, I don’t know how regularly people read my blog and I’m okay with that. This experience, I hope, will check some biases which I may still have and also help me determine how I can better handle conversations with others who may not be as accepting. I am going to have some guest posts from members of the LGBT community, a set of interviews with Michael where we talk about his experience being in a “straight” relationship and questioning, and I’ll be reading and summarizing some articles on LGBT topics for students selecting colleges, how LGBTQ is defined, and an introductory understanding to the LGBT community for individuals who may be unfamiliar with it.
My goal is to post an LGBT-related entry every day for October. If you manage to see this, wonderful and I hope it helps us both to learn. If there is something you notice that you think I could do differently, if you agree or disagree, if you have questions, please let me know! Also, if you happen to be less comfortable or familiar with LGBT topics and have something you want to talk about or learn about, chances are I could benefit from learning about it too and can ask others or research online to find the answer. If you don’t feel comfortable commenting here, please feel free to reach out to me via my contact form at the top of the blog or emailing me at email@example.com.
Thank you and I hope you check out my interview entry with Michael which will post tomorrow at 9am EST. Please consider commenting below. I would love to hear your thoughts (regardless of what they are; I’m always open to feedback).
Michael and I were together for seven years. He was and remains one of my best friends. He was my college sweetheart, my first sexual partner, and became a very close member of my family. After we graduated college, he moved to a new state with me where I got my first master’s degree and then completed the coursework for a second while he worked on an MA in clinical and mental health counseling. A first-generation college student, he was also the first person in his family to pursue a master’s degree and it was a challenging road we both walked together. Although we had broken up months before, when I went to his graduation, it was hard not to tear up because of not only how proud I was but how it felt to see him accomplish something which I had also poured my heart into. Needless to say, our bond runs deep and we have history.
But we also have had some challenges (as he will explain in his guest post and I will share in my own).
Six years into our relationship, he began questioning his sexuality and seven years in, we ended our relationship so he could have the room to explore. Up to the sixth year, I still very much wanted to be with him and it was really hard for me to both support him in this huge, life-changing moment and process ending the most serious relationship I had ever had. I think we both believe our relationship ended that summer but we tried really hard for another year.
Although we both did things that weren’t our best moments in life and didn’t end things how we ideally would have, we both acknowledge that our former partner at some point did things or had moments–doubts, thoughts, actions–that weren’t perfect, some of which we have shared and some of which we have decided to let rest. It took some time but it became very clear we were meant to help one another through some formative moments in our lives. I like to hash things out and dishonesty grates at me. It is acidic and wears a hole in my stomach, whether or not I am the one who is being dishonest. I cannot stand to ignore elephants in the room. I need to identify them, categorize, and tag them so I can check in later. Michael is more of know what’s important and avoid confrontation sort of person.
There are things we could discuss and we both know that but our relationship has changed so radically, it doesn’t matter anymore. His identity has completely turned our relationship on its side and as much as it gave me a brutal mental whiplash in the beginning, it has helped wash away moments where we weren’t perfect and also made me realize while I was familiar with LGBTQ issues, it was never as personal and complicated for me as it was right after I found out.
Although this is a personal subject, Michael and I both put it out there knowing people may have opinions and that’s okay. If you have just general comments, feedback on the post/project, questions, etc., I would love to hear them. If you aren’t comfortable submitting them as comments, you can complete the contact form at the top of my page or you can email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
So I didn’t accomplish all of my contract items yesterday but I managed several. Consistency. That’s the enemy of depression. At least for me. I need to keep doing this and building confidence in the idea that I can be consistent and can trust myself when I make promises to myself. My whole life, empirical evidence has forced into my head that you can’t trust people, even those who are supposed to love you the hardest. And with low self-esteem, I always had high aspirations but didn’t trust myself or believe in myself. I feel like as an adult, when all protections are removed and you take a hard look at yourself, if you can’t trust yourself you don’t really have any sort of footing in your life. At least I don’t. I think I get blown around my life by every single, small gust of wind because I don’t feel rooted in the idea that if nothing else, I can depend on myself and I really want to change that.
That likely starts with addressing my kryptonite, having eyes wayyyy too big for my appetite. I set goals way too high too fast and then rain down on myself hard when I don’t meet them so tomorrow, here is my contract for myself.
I promise, promise, promise myself that I will wake up by 8 am and go to bed by midnight.
I promise I will go to therapy tomorrow (I managed to make an appointment today and find a counselor, finally).
I promise I will do two hours of schoolwork tomorrow. (8 would be fantastic but let’s not overshoot and then I can be pleasantly surprised instead of unsurprisingly disappointed).
I promise to go for a run.
Let’s see how this one goes.