Whenever I hadn’t written in my journal for a great length of time, I would start the entry with something like: I’m sorry it’s been so long! So much has happened. Where do I start?

The same sweet consideration for an inanimate object could be used now.

I’ve put a lot of things on pause lately. Posting actual content on my social media instead of just sharing others’ posts and Stories of my dog. Going out at night and on the weekends. Obsessively tracking anti-trans legislation. And for a long while, enjoying at least some parts of life.

Something significant changed me early last year (we’ll save that for another blog!) during the protests and road trips to the Capitol. At some point, I realized drinking was becoming a problem. Like a lot of people, the isolation and boredom of the COVID-19 lockdowns had significantly increased my alcohol use. And then, it got even worse.

With the love and support of the deeply caring people in my life, I went through an intensive outpatient program to learn the psychology behind addiction and develop healthier coping mechanisms. I’d like to say I’m completely healed, that the program fixed me right up. But like medication and therapy, IOP wasn’t a magical cure-all (I know, terrible, right?).

Throughout the rest of the year, some pretty heavy things happened (yep, another blog) and I was sober through it all. At one of my appointments, my therapist challenged me to be proud: I had successfully made it through a week out of town for work (isolated) while experiencing a huge change at work (security in question) and planning for my dad’s memorial service (self-explanatory). Oh, and I can’t fall back into the familiarity of a glass of wine to cope.

It was definitely a low and I couldn’t understand how to be proud of anything I did during that period. But I’m starting to see it now. I’m appreciating the benefit of being forced to sit in my own thoughts. I’m learning how to ask help and not hide. I’m recognizing how my community stood with me the entire time.

This blog is a turning point. I’ve been feeling emotionally constipated for a long, long time. For the last six months, the dam started crumbling, deep cracks splitting through layers of hurt. I’ve been so exhausted from fighting with myself, I didn’t have the energy to do anything other than watch Forensic Files and doom-scroll for entire weekends.

I’m just following the advice of a very important person in my life who has pushed me to write it out ever since I met her in high school. Writing, and now photography, film projects, collaging, painting, playing the keyboard, and mixing are the kind of things I do now instead of drink. I’m still learning who this new person is, but it’s promising that I’m reclaiming my hobbies.

Everything is so hard right now. If you’re wondering why you aren’t happy or why you don’t feel like doing some of the things you used to do or you can’t stand being around people right now—maybe you have depression. But also, I’m here to reassure you that it’s okay. I’d say it’s pretty normal considering there’s genocide and ethnic cleansing, (more) anti-trans legislation, wage theft, an ongoing and ever-morphing virus, etc. etc.

Take care of yourselves, dear friends. Turn to your community, to art, to kindness, to spiritual practices, to your ancestors. It’s okay to have emotional diarrhea.