i didnt ask for ur neurotypical opinion

2015 saw me finally cut an abuser from my life - no mean feat, given we share parents, but also, because of that, something that has taken years. It feels safe now, but not final. Perhaps I don’t yet understand closure. 

2015 saw me start up my own business, and lose £2000 in the process. I achieved almost none of my goals, became financially unstable, and made the difficult decision to keep going anyway - not out of a desire to prove people wrong (a regular motivation of mine) but because I realised there wasn’t enough reason to quit. 

2015 almost saw me quit something else, though. Having been told by a psychiatrist that I was ‘not clinically depressed’, I ignored symptoms that have flared on and off since I was 14, and ended up deeper down the rabbit hole than I’d ever been before. It took my boyfriend several hours to talk me off the metaphorical ledge, and my mother several more to convince me to seek professional help (again). I now have an official diagnosis of major depression, and lots of medication. 

2015 saw more of that, too. I’m now on hormone therapy - something that should hopefully make me more comfortable in the world, but which also dooms me to blood tests twice a year. Anybody questioning the big deal about this should know that there is passing out, retching, dizziness, temporary deafness, fever, and a wonderful host of other symptoms when somebody sticks me with a needle. I’ve started reassuring the nurses before they can try reassuring me. 

2015 saw me through 2015. 

I took the year slowly. There were no huge projects to burn out on, a lot of umming and ahhing over identity stuff, and not a great deal interesting to show off. I haven’t even had a holiday. 

But then, I never said 2015 was going to be my year. I’m not expecting 2016 to be too flashy, either - just a further progression of a relatively secure foundation. I’m not broke yet, or broken. My neurodivergency and I have (mostly) learned to live with each other, even if there are days where I come home screaming to my boyfriend that I want to cut off sensory organs. I’m in a good place overall. 

A couple of days ago, I had a bunch of friends over for our traditional annual gaming night, where we break rules, have fun, and eat far too much. Next year, we’re talking about pushing the boat out and doing it more than once. I’m going to try my hand at GMing. 

I’m also going to read the sequel of a good book that I was given for Christmas, work on a few small projects, use up all these bathbombs, learn how to shave a beard, keep my business steady, visit some friends to introduce myself to their baby as ‘the dark lord’, and maybe, just /maybe/, have a holiday. 

I don’t need to exaggerate the little things I’ve achieved in 2015. I don’t need to /achieve/ at all. I’m happier just /being/. 

I didn’t stop being crazy in 2015, and I probably never will. Medication doesn’t stop that, and nor does self-control. I’m learning how to manage it, and embrace it, and live with the weird combination of those. I’m chugging along. 

So here’s to everyone else who doesn’t feel like they succeeded /or/ survived 2015 - who feels like they scraped by nothing extraordinary and didn’t do anything noteworthy either. We’re allowed to be slow burners.