If you could turn back time

A few weeks ago I had a friend ask me “if you could go back to the age of 16 again, knowing everything you know now, would you?”.

It isn’t a new hypothetical, I’ve heard variations on it for years, but for some reason, this time, it stuck with me.

Would I?

I’d have to say, yes.  At 16 I had moved out of my parent’s house and so while I’d be stuck dealing with my father’s mental abuse for another 10 years (until he died, best thing he ever did for me), I’d be away from the physical.

Knowing what I do now would allow me to make a better person of myself early, get on medications I needed sooner, get into school with a plan before my depressive breakdown, and more.

It would be an interesting juggle, however, to keep the friends I want and the hobbies I love.  If I deviated too far from my real life, those things would vanish and I’d be trading away a lot – too much in some cases.

On the other hand, with the knowledge I have, I could invest well in both my finances and my well being.  I could live better, healthier, happier, and possibly even gotten a gender change at an age where it would have been worth it. (though I think I was in my twenties before any hint of gender reassignment hit the media, so I’d probably still be out of luck)

Most importantly, I wouldn’t be where I am now, because I’m none too happy with it.

I know, I know, “If you don’t like your life, change it” – believe me, I’ve tried, I continue to try, but every time you fail it becomes harder to try again and seemingly easier to fall short.

Fuck, fuck, fuck … okay, sorry, I was starting to wax depressive again there – that was not my intention.  My mind has been slipping into the dark again lately – long hours spent each night thinking about suicide until I have to get up and smoke just to chase the nagging, persistent, thoughts out of my head.  When I was on Ambien I went through these depressive manias wherein I’d have to tie myself to the bedpost so I wouldn’t cause myself harm.  It isn’t that bad now, but the thoughts are very reminiscent of those days.  I went through a similar bout this last summer – that one lasted three months and the build-up to it and the lingering effects afterward caused me to stop Game Mastering for over a year.

The one hobby that brings me joy, that lets me flex my creativity, that allows me to use my artistic storytelling and love for stories in a deeply satisfying way … and I couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore.  Worse, after only three months back from that hiatus, I’m feeling the urge to give it up again.

Damnit, nope, wait, stop, backtrack … I’ve got to avoid fixating on painful thoughts, on self-defeating beliefs … I do not want this diary to turn into a hundred entries of me bitching about my depression – I don’t want to write it, you don’t want to read it.

I’m … done … sorry, this is as far as I get in this entry … I’ll try again later.