Happy Before I’m 30: An Introduction
I am 29 years old. I turned 29 last month very much against my will, but apparently this is all decided based on calendars and placement of the Earth, so my protests were largely ignored and I was officially shunted into my 30th year with much protest and little fanfare. Almost one month later, I tried to kill myself.
I don’t have a good reason as to why. I realized how unhappy I was with the way my life was going and, instead of doing anything about it and improving my lot, I decided to just take the easy way out so as to avoid any possible shame from my parents and so as to not be there when I hurt the loved ones I was going to damage regardless. Instead, before following through with a method that surely would’ve scarred my wife for life, I, in the throes of darkness, messaged a friend. We talked about it, he flooded me with phone numbers and websites to reach out to, and I called a suicide hotline.
I did not kill myself because I was ashamed of telling the man at the suicide hotline why I wanted to die. I was embarrassed. I started to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation which, surprise, freaked him out. I told him nothing, except Happy Memorial Day, and decided to go on with my life as if nothing was wrong. Huge mistake.
Over the next two weeks I had what could only be described as a non-stop manic episode. I had trouble sleeping, I ate less and less to the point where I was down almost a pound a day, I freaked out at friends and family alike, even refusing to talk to my parents on the phone for a week because I didn’t want any of their bullshit platitudes, didn’t think I deserved their kind and loving words. My heart was a jackhammer, the anxiety was overwhelming, every day felt like forever and death seemed like a dream in comparison. I lost someone close to me, realizing our friendship was never what I thought it was to begin with.
But people noticed, and people cared. Friends, some of whom I would only describe as acquaintances at best, saw what I was going through and they reached out to me. While I lost one pillar of support, so many others grew in its place, people would message me through out the day to see how I was doing, two friends gave up their whole afternoon to talk to me and calm me down, and because of their fears (and their intent to check me into a facility that I was thankfully able to talk them down from), I started therapy the next day, the therapy I always thought was beneath me, the therapy that now keeps me more level, more grounded.
Without my friends, I can honestly say I wouldn’t be here, so, if you hate me, they’re the ones to blame.
I’m not saying I’m healthy, I’m a long way from it. I’m still in my head all the time, my anxiety is a constant burden that I can only distract myself from at best, but I’m trying. I think I’m going to be trying for the rest of my life, but unlike two weeks ago where I had accepted my eventual suicide as the only future, now I want to live. Not every day, not every moment, but I am sick and tired of thinking that the only way out is to not feel ever again.
For the first time in awhile, I want to be happy, not comfortable, not complacent, happy. I want to be happy by the time I’m 30. That gives me a little over ten months to make the necessary changes, grow as a person in ways that I’ve never put thought into before, and be the Jamie I want to be and not the person others see me as. And I’m going to blog it, because yes getting attention makes me happy, but I also want others to hold me accountable. Lately I’ve been told I’m too secretive, too guarded, and that’s true even if it was never purposeful, so I’m going to put it all out there for the world to see. I’m going to ask for help when I think I need it, I’m going to realize that happiness isn’t something you just get by yourself, it is a quest that we go on forever, and while the party may change, the end goal is always the same. I just want to see it through to the end, claim a victory I haven’t considered in years.
P.S. I will not be less awkward, I wouldn’t even know where to start with that.
P.P.S. Sorry if this was weird to read, Dad.
P.P.P.S. I’m still going to post about movies here, and it’s actually kind of fun because you can tell when I’m depressed and when I’m not, maybe make a drinking game out of it.