It has been more than two weeks since my last post. I had about five days off from work, and wanted to do nothing but stay inside and do nothing. When I came back to work, the workload was massive, and I think I was still the lazy self that I was during my time off.
I wanted writing in this blog to remain something I truly enjoy, not something that burdens me. So I waited until I was excited to start writing about my thoughts and little events that I go through each day. And today, is the day.
I’m not trying to get pity or sympathy, but I want to be as transparent as possible—managing my mental health has been really hard. I was diagnosed with dysthymia (PDD) in my mid twenties, while I was treating my depression(MDD).
I remember feeling so hopeless and useless when my doctor gave me this diagnosis. Dysthymia was a new concept to me, so he read me the definition of the disorder, “a psychological condition in which you have mild or moderate symptoms, such as sadness and hopelessness, that last over two years.” (Or something like that, he said it in Korean)
The word “mild” and “moderate” killed me. It made me feel like a failure. These mild symptoms were suffocating me, and others who go through things that are far more severe, were marching on. I felt like a crybaby.
Of course, my doctor reassured me that I shouldn’t feel that way. I still see him every once in a while, and he is one of the kindest and most caring doctors I’ve ever met. But around that time, I realized that psychotherapy and medication might not have been the sole solution for me. I needed to do my part in treating my mental health.
I needed to find an outlet, or something I enjoyed. I tried so many new things. I started Brazilian jiu-jitsu, tried a vegetarian diet for a month, met up with friends that I had lost contact with, got a really short haircut, joined a book club… But nothing worked. I was forcing myself onto these new experiences and ended up feeling burned out.
So I gave up again. I started to accept that maybe, I’ll live with this “meh” feeling for the rest of my life. It wasn’t a satisfying realization, but it was an easy way of coping. I was okay with this, until I turned 30.
Not saying 30 is old, but I couldn’t believe that among the 30 years I’ve lived, the last time I truly felt happy was during my first year of high school. I wanted to become a happy person again. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I only experienced sadness and gloom. There are times of joy and excitement. But if I were to say that I, at my core, am a happy person, it would be hard to say so with certainty.
I want to be a happy person. I want to enjoy life, and on my last day on earth, I want to love the life I’ve lived.
That’s what brought me to this blog. I remembered that when I was a kid, I used to love writing. And in elementary school I used to be good at it. When I’m focused on jotting my thoughts down, I feel relaxed and at peace. And I want it to stay this way.I don’t want it to become an assignment or responsibility, but something I genuinely love doing.
I don’t expect my blog to change the world. But I want it to change me. I want my blog to make me into a positive person so that I can impact others. I want others to think of me as radiant and energetic. And this blog is just one step in the transformation.
And if my long, redundant writing can make someone smile, that would be more than enough to say I’m on the right track.
Sonagi 
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