On an Ending

Where do you think you’ll be in five years? In ten? After that?

I find myself growing introspective as my time in college (undergraduate, at least) comes to an end. It’s odd. I never thought I’d be here.

I didn’t think I’d be dead, exactly, but it has always been hard for me to imagine a future. Maybe it is because I have been depressed for a very long time. Depression narrows your perspective; it makes your world a series of shutters and closed doors.

I don’t remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. I mean, I vaguely remember wanting to become a lawyer because that’s what my parents were, and then wanting to become a librarian because I liked books. But who did I imagine I’d be when I grew up? I don’t think child-me would have imagined someone nonbinary, with the accomplishments and hardships I’ve had. What did that child think they would become?

What do I think I’ll become?

Commitments seem terrifying to me now, as it is still hard to imagine I’ll be there for the duration. And yet I have a girlfriend and a cat, and I will be going to graduate school. But yet it is hard to imagine the future of these things, these relationships and these periods of time.

And again, that might be a product of my depression. I was suicidal just a couple years ago – there is no future in mind for someone who is in as dark a place as I was.

I’m much better now, but maybe I still carry that myopia with me. What does the future hold? I certainly don’t know.

What about you? Do you imagine a future for yourself? Why or why not?



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