DISCLAIMER: Sorry for the profanity.
I’m turning a quarter of a century next Tuesday—that’s the 12th of June, for all of y’all keeping track at home—and naturally that gets me thinking. There are many aspects about my life that I’m further along than I thought I’d be when I planned my life—the sort of “planning” any teenager does at one point—and really goddamn behind in other respects.
This is not going to be a review of my life. Ain’t noone got time for that. Instead I’m going to write a mai-tai-fueled, teenage-angst-styled blog post about my angst. How meta.
Where I am
Two months ago I got married to the best person I ever met. That’s definitely a plus. From time to time I get these feelings of “I don’t deserve this”, but I’m trying my best at being a loving, supportive partner and treating her the way she deserves and that’s—well, the best I can do, I guess.
I have one of the best work environments I could imagine being in at the moment. I’m surrounded by kind people, I’m friends—or at least honestly friendly—with all of them, and I get to work on hard problems. I went job-hunting last month, and I came back knowing how much happier I’d be staying at my current job, so I did that.
I never fully recovered from that depressive state I was in when I studied psychology in Salzburg. I still have these throwbacks into a state of feeling miserable, but I can manage them well, usually. I usually just write a few cathartic blog posts, create an “artwork” or two—y’know, those trivial-feeling pieces I put on that website—, and recover. Maybe I should talk to a therapist, but it’s never acute, and I know how to self-medicate using little more than a metric ton of cigarettes and booze and weed. I know that doesn’t sound healthy, but I guess it’s exaggerated anyway.
And this brings me to the next point: I sometimes have the emotional maturity of a teenager. That’s probably not something that people notice when they meet me in person, and something my wife vehemently denies, but it definitely feels true. This blog post is living proof that sometimes I’m a little more vain, self-deprecating, and just generally AIM-ICQ—y than I’d like myself to be.
There’s way more factors in my life I won’t get into in this blog post because right now they do not feel as acute—among other things that I’m shit with money, I have intrusive thoughts more often than is normal—I think—, our plans of escaping this shithole of a city—yup, Berlin—keep getting delayed.
I can’t keep bothering you. I decided that 500 words of not-quite-sober rambling are enough, and I’m going to keep my promise.
I love each and every one of my readers. I hope that next year I’ll be gentler, wiser, more loving, more productive, and less dependent on a system that I despise than this year.