Good Times Will Always Come Back

I struggle with accepting life for what it is, mostly when it’s positive.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how much I’d gotten accustomed to life really being dark. Dark because I’m not healthy physically, dark because I’m mentally out of it, dark because of looking at how much more daunting work is left with organizing, etc, etc, etc. I would sort of grow to feel a sense of despair that, even when counteracted with a radical conception of practicing hope, was exhausting. It’s not necessarily that I was becoming deeply pessimistic, but I recognized how little effort I made in actively looking forward to things, to be more intentional with doing things that I would want to care about.

I think my therapist was telling me something about trying to gauge how life will go once I’d come back from leave, in large part because he recognized how much of a hole I was in, alone, in pain, last quarter. But it wasn’t just about coming back to my home with friends and school; it was about setting myself up to build the necessary habits and effort to be the best version of myself. At a minimum, my knee needed the attention to care that would require these lifestyle changes. If I wasn’t going to do it for any other reason, working to ensure I could get back to full health would be enough of a justification to take care of myself more.