Confronting the monsters sleeping in my bed
I stared at the dozen drafts rotting like a dead skunk in my "bearblog" folder.
It's been awhile hasn't it?
2024 was four months ago.
Everyday has been an episode of "getting my shit together," a seemingly neverending cycle of constantly slipping through the cracks, watching yourself fall off despite having immediate control of the joystick. Some sort of perpetual lucid dreaming while you're awake.
They say life isn't a marathon but it sprints off like it's running out of time and you never even notice until you stop to take a break and all of a sudden you don't even know where you are anymore. Always lost, bruised, and wandering, wondering why you're even running in the first place.
You don't know when it'll all end, but sometimes you wish it was today.
For all these months that have passed, there was a certain guilt that loomed over my soul like an irritating pest; a personal guilt I've been avoiding to confront - abandoning this space I once earnestly called home. I was afraid of myself; of coming to the realization that I have once again failed to love something strong enough to stay with it. Whether it was boredom, or burn out, or any other reason, I didn't want to face yet another inconsistency in my life. I drowned myself in toxic dopamine-inducing social media apps, doom scrolling until not a single thought could be heard in the echo chamber of my brain. I walked barefoot on this rocky path until the blisters on my feet turned black.
Despite the ugly resurgence of internet addiction and insecurities, an unexpected seed blossomed into a miracle flower amongst the fields of dead winter grass and dandelions.
I started streaming again.
With the rise of popularity of the new game Marvel Rivals came the revival of a nostalgic moment from my early innocent days of gaming. Overwatch was my first love, and Rivals felt like its love letter. At the start of February I challenged myself to stream my rank games almost everyday and improve, and the effort is slowly but surely paying off.
With a donation goal on stream of "getting therapy," two months later, March 31 2025 to be exact, I was able to afford a private assessment and am now officially diagnosed with ADHD (combination subtype with depression and GAD).
I'm so grateful to my community that supported me and made this happen.
Though to my surprise, I did not feel as elated as I thought I would. Perhaps the feeling was more that of relief than ecstacy. Maybe because I already knew I had it for a long time now, I just needed access to the direct resources an official diagnosis can provide. I'm finally getting on meds for the first time, and despite being aware that it may not be completely effective, I just can't wait to be able to taste something different in my life. To finally take in the medical option instead of mentally coping and rawdogging each day with an already non-existent motivation to live.
Anyway, that's how life has been. I kept my seasonal part-time job in a retail store and streamed during my days off. I have some online friends I play with every night or so, from our competitive main game Rivals to cozy and dumb games like REPO and Core Keeper. There are days I feel euphoria, and days I feel melancholia.
Life isn't any better or worse, just a little different, but there's a faint, distant light at the end of the road that takes shape in the form of hope, calling out my name; maybe I'm on the right path this time.
I know it's shameless of me to knock on your door asking for warmth and comfort after abandoning you, especially when you know I won't stay. But every time I pass by your frontyard I always see you sitting on the porch, patiently, watching the horizon as if you're expecting a visitor.
I murmur under my breath, "Thank you for waiting."
I hear you whisper,
"Welcome Home."