Not an Understatement

I don’t think it would be an understatement to say this has been the worst year of my life. Even with having a number of years before defined solely by my want to die, 2015 has been the hardest, most tiresome, most trying uphill battle…

We didn’t begin the year well. Health trouble on one family’s side led us to become very concerned over our finances. Cody decided it best not to go back to school until it settled. We were threatened to be taken to court instead. We were thrown into the ocean with a dead cell phone and a half-inflated inner tube.

I was struggling as it was with a job I hated. My depression was hitting me harder than it had in years, and Cody needed me when I could barely hold on myself. I forced myself to work two jobs, despite promising myself I would never do that again.

I finally quit the job I hated only to realize there was no way I could manage with just the one and picked up another just so we could pay the bills. Cody found a job that paid well with plenty of hours, but he’s worked to the bone. We stopped spending time with one another as partners and started living together as roommates. I miss him. He misses me. It’s miserable.

The depression got better before it got worse again. And then Kyrstin. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. Coming here and not seeing her shouldn’t feel normal. But it does because I never did come back for her. I never said goodbye.

The friends I’ve kept in touch with have shrunk. One I know I’ll never get back, another I’ll likely never understand, some I may have a chance to keep… But learning the true colors of someone I once called a best friend at the same time of losing someone who truly was one cuts me far deeper than I care to admit.

Artistically, I accomplished nothing I set out to do this year. I failed to produce any content. P4Abridged, Game Virgins, the secret second project, my YouTube channel, voice over… I even fell behind on my blog, which served early on as my only creative outlet.

We hit a massive roadblock with our pitch that was beyond our control. I’m scared to hope for recovery. I’m scared to hope for anything. Each expectation I set up, each hope I had, was tarnished when I reached for it. I just feel like if I’m going to have hopes and expectations, I should let them high up on the shelf so they remain shiny and pure. I feel like I’d do better staying put than moving from where I stand.

And that’s all I can really say. I’m scared. I can rope together all of this year into one big bag and act as if it’s behind me and done, but it’d be a lie. This year is now a part of me and the history that makes me who I am. Every day of my life is a part of that, no different than one shitty, fucked up year. So moving on into the new year doesn’t change anything. We say it’s a clean slate, but it’s not, really. And I’m scared that I’m just setting myself up for another 2015.


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