This isn’t an easy post to write. See as a self proclaimed book nerd, someone that growing up it was incredibly difficult to pull me away from a book, I’ve had the hardest time reading books this last year.
I know that there are probably a lot of us out there, those who were affected by the pandemic, those who have struggled in adulthood to figure out when to read like we used to, and those that were former gifted/talented kids that might be realizing our love of books when we were younger was a coping mechanism.
Last year I finally took the plunge to talk with my doctor and begin treating my mental health challenges. I won’t lie, it was hard. The test I took wasn’t covered by my insurance and it was expensive and I’m blessed to work in a job where I saved enough money to be able to afford it. I am so glad that I did this, it was the starting point to a road of fixing me. I got the labels I needed. I started new medications to help me cope in ways that people who don’t have these chemical deficiencies might never understand.
And then I used this as a bandaid. I didn’t go talk to a therapist, like I knew I needed to. I didn’t implement healthier coping mechanisms, and I didn’t take a step back from work when I knew that I was drowning.
It lead to burnout.
Burnout so hard that after I started a new job, a job that I had worked the last five year toward reaching in my career, I’m still having challenges with motivation somedays. With wanting to do the work I’m passionate about. It lead to another crash of realizing I couldn’t fix myself by myself. This finally made me reach out to find someone to talk to. I’ve been seeing them for over two months, we got me into a new provider who is tweaking my meds so I have proper brain chemistry. I’m finally remembering what it’s like to have the energy and desire to want to work, to want to work out, to want to write and read and post on this blog.
Which is why I wanted to talk to you all about a hole I fell in so others might realize what it is. I have always been a bookworm, I’ve always read to escape. But you see even in my darkest depression, I was still that bookworm. I was still reading all the time. But I didn’t currently have the mental capacity to empathize with new characters. So I read Fanfiction.
Fanfiction is a beautiful medium, I’ve been an avid reader for nearly two decades. I’ve written, I’ve commented, I’ve laughed and cried my eyes out from wonderful writers. I’ve cringed at terribly written stories, but know that we all starts somewhere. I’ve beta’d and I’ve competed in competitions.
But I use fanfiction as a crutch on the worst of my mental health days. On the worst of my mental health spirals I do nothing but read fanfiction, and I mean NOTHING. The familiar characters, world, and histories allow me to slide in with no effort and the I escape. I escape and because I can’t see how long a story is I’ll delude myself into that this is fine, one more story, one more chapter. The prelude of my spiral last year before I finally scheduled my psychology appointment? I read for over 36 hours straight. No eating, I paused to answer one work email. That’s it.
I knew it was a problem. I know it’s been a problem, but never quite like that. It was undoubtably worse for me due to the fact that as we went into lockdown, I was stuck in my house as an extrovert who’s main love language is physical touch. I finished my masters degree and then this thing that had been taking up 12+ hours a week was gone. The Pandemic changed us all. We lost who we were and how we connected last year. And even when we slowly started opening up, when we started finding friends and family again, so many of us were still lost mentally.
I am finally, finally starting to remember what it’s like to be myself. To be happy and to have drive to do things that take up time. Sure I still procrastinante. I still read fanfiction, as I stated it is a wonderful work of art and one I cherish. Not every addiction is drugs and not every obsession is physical, but they are just as dangerous when we don’t reign in our spiral. Everyone has a vice. But it doesn’t have to consume us.
I hadn’t realized how much I hadn’t felt like me. So please, please if you feel off go talk to a doctor. This is your sign, I spent months spiraling. When if I’d gone in back in January like I was supposed to, maybe I wouldn’t have burned out. It wouldn’t have bled over into so many other things. I’ll never know this, but I know that I wish I had.
If anyone needs to talk, I’m here and I’m always happy to listen.
Go out and find what gives you joy, and remember if your brain chemicals are off, store bought is fine. After all mine are.
my way by Starlight 
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