Lately I've been asking myself a lot of questions that could, under a single umbrella statement, be easily summed up as "why me?" Though I am not asking "why have I been dealt this awful hand to play, WHY WHY WHY?!" the question still remains very directly "why me?" but in the sense of "why should I be the one to speak out, when I'm one of millions?" I ground myself a lot by bringing this perspective into mind. What makes me special? What makes me better than the rest? What makes me stand out above all else? While it can be a very humbling genre of question to ask, this falls very well within the realm of my consistent tendency to self-deprecate with anything and everything I have to say about myself. We find ourselves in this position, asking the same question. When wanting to continue to blog about my life, the things I learn, the adventures I go on, and for the simple reason that I very clearly write to make sense of what I'm experiencing, I always ask myself "why should ANYONE be interested in this topic, especially coming from me?" This is a question that may never be answered. I am not completely certain I want it answered for the simple fact that I'd have no reason to continue to challenge myself should it ever be. And though my attempts at taking this inward protest with a grain of salt have always been valiant, I'm my own worst critic, and the question continues with no avail. Today I bring to you the heaviest "why me" narrative I've ever presented and been presented with. I sat in the bus lot of Charlotte Motor Speedway like I do every year: shivering, filled with sugar, watching Polar Express on the screen you can see illuminating the sky from the interstate when it's a foggy or cloudy night. The latter was reluctant. Polar Express has always been one of my lesser ranked Christmas movies and truthfully the last time I watched it all the way through was years and years ago... but for the experience, I sat. As the kids re-boarded the train and had their tickets stamped, the conductor said something along the lines of "it doesn't matter where you're going, it's deciding to get on." And within the throws of my own head, a light bulb went off. I gasped, looked at the friend in my passenger seat, and with wide eyes I said "I have to write that down." My entire journey, up to this point, has been me accepting where I'm sent and falling victim to the normalcy of a routine and staying viciously comfortable in it. Within the past couple months I've begun to notice a subconscious unrest in myself and after no persuasion, decided I didn't want to go back to the "normal" I was experiencing months before the biggest shift of my adult life began to happen. The hardest part in all of this, as most things in my life, was getting started and keeping the momentum going even when, like I am in the current moment, facing a plateau of the same emotion, the same bad taste in my mouth, just wanting to BE THERE, wherever it is. Considering that with my whole heart I believe in signs, to inadvertently be told by Tom Hanks in conductor form "it's deciding to get on" felt like a nod from the universe during my first major plateau that I'm on the right track. No pun intended. In October I began seeing a therapist and was officially diagnosed with an unspecified anxiety disorder. Now, I've known since 2010 that I've had anxiety and really only co-existed with it on a self-diagnosed basis. Retrospectively, I recognize that I've had anxiety my entire life, so to have it acknowledged and official makes me feel less crazy than I felt before, even though I am not at all crazy. As November came to its midpoint, I began to notice traits in myself that I had noticed before, but had never felt this strongly. What it was that led me to my be-all end-all will be saved for a rainy day, but it subsequently led me to recognizing a fear I had, not for my own life, but for my general well being. I had never in my adult life felt so absolutely miserable. I had never in my life felt so bleak and washed out. When I had noticed similar traits in the past, it was situational. Every May in high school I'd fall in a pit of stress and an all consuming worry. I remember sitting in Honors Biology and wondering if anyone could tell how gray I felt because when I looked in the mirror I felt I looked sick. This was not that. This was not situational. I understood there was a concern within me when I'd go to bed and wake up and it wouldn't feel like I slept. I wouldn't feel tired, I'd just sleep: no fulfillment. I began to notice that keeping in contact with anyone was far too much. I talk to my best friend every single day and I'd often not answer, or answer with no substance. I found myself reluctant to start conversation with anyone new because I felt overwhelmed at the thought of having to introduce them to this very taped together, opaque, shell of a human being version of me. I noticed that I didn't want anyone to help me, I wanted to figure it out on my own, and in innocently (and very introverted-ly) bringing this to the attention of my therapist she promptly replied "isolation is one of the key signs of depression." There it was. Another figment of what I had known for so long had officially and professionally reared its ugly head, no longer to be avoided. In the process of acknowledging and accepting this was suddenly a very real part of who I am, I noticed that the grace and patience I give and have given to my loved ones in the same position seemed not to exist. I was frustrated with myself and flippant when it came to my own feelings. Though as you read this, I am still within the storm of trying to sort through why it is this is such a scary thing for me to hit head on, I'm pushing myself to welcome the process with open arms because where I've spent so long mothering others, it truly has come time for me to take my own advice. In acknowledging these changes on this timeline, I came to recognize this time of year having always misrepresented itself as an antonym. Christmas is my favorite time of year, Christmas Lights are my favorite thing to ever exist on this planet, and seeing someone's Christmas Tree in their front window brings me excitement I seldom find elsewhere. However, I also find myself saying I'm excited when I'm not, craving the butterflies in my chest from joy, and genuinely feeling like this is the time of year that I thrive, but not doing so. I no longer want to accept this as "normal." I'm not expecting that by being on antidepressants I'm going to have this giant epiphany moment where suddenly everything makes sense and my bout of emotionally and physically painful suffering is justified by what has suddenly unfolded in front of me, cuing a choir of angels, a gold haze replacing the outline of my aura, and presenting my spirit guides (whomever they may be) wiping the sweat from their brows. I've thought about it.... can you tell? I've thought about it and wished for it and though I so badly want to not feel like this anymore, I also understand that when it comes to something chemically imbalanced, I don't have a whole lot of say over how I feel and how I don't. And I have to be okay with that. This week I'm feeling disrupted. I'm not joyful, I'm not happy, I'm not feeling well, and even though I'm trying to put my best foot forward, I'm not at all feeling fulfilled. Where Are You Christmas? has been on a loop in my head for 4 days. For the third year in a row, I visited an attraction in a place dubbed Christmas Town USA and smiled to the kids screaming "MERRY CHRISTMAS!" out the windows of their parents' moving vehicle. I recognized a moment I should have felt joy and responded promptly without feeling it. Is that disingenuous or me trying to convince myself that I still have it in me to make my own heart grow three sizes? Either way, to have the ability to recognize the difference between the two and be given the tools to help mend it is a serving of gratitude that does not fall short. To give myself the chance to make a change is a victory, no matter how impatient I am to see a difference. For weeks I was ill at ease with the idea that this is a part of my journey I should be gracefully taking lessons from in order to feel my destination will be sweeter in the end. To understand, even from a movie I don't really even like, that the end goal doesn't have to matter, it's the fact that I'm willingly taking the ride that may prove more in the end makes me want to ride this train car until there's no more track left.