I have been talking about the three main goals I want to reach in 2026. In the last post, I wrote about wanting to find an online Asian genderqueer/queer group, and I’ll get back to that in a future post. In this one, I want to talk about some of the other goals I have for this year. They are not quite as immediate or as important as the big three, but they are prominent in my mind.
1. Finding a therapist. I know that my mental health is slipping. It’s in a large part because of the world around me (especially as an American), but it’s also my prior mental health issues coming rearing their ugly heads once again. By that I mean depression and anxiety. I have suffered from them all my life–well for as long as I can remember, which is seven or so. Depression was the main one when I was a kid with anxiety blossoming sometime in my early teens.
I will say that a lot of it is environmental with a (unhealthy) dose of of upbringing. Being a fat, smart, undiagnosed neurospicy Asian American kid in a time when diversity wasn’t even a twinkle in the eye of the social consciousness, let alone the bogeyman it’s been made into today.
Side note: It’s so hard for me to accept that diversity is in a worse place today than it was when I was a kid forty to fifty years ago. It makes me profoundly sad and defeated–like what is the point? We’re supposed to make the world better for the generations after us, and yet, we’re leaving it worse. Then, I get mad. I did not come back from death (twice!) for this, damn it. What the ever-loving fuck is going on?
One positive result of my medical crisis was that my depression and anxiety disappeared almost completely. My depression vanished by 90% and my anxiety lessened by 60%. My body hatred disappeared completely. In fact, I was positively arrogant in my body appreciation. It saw me through death (twice!) without even blinking. For real. I was in a coma for a week, and I woke up angry and redy to fight someone. But I passed all my tests with flying colors, and I was released a week later. A week! After literally dying twice and being in a coma for a week. I walked out on my own–well, leaning on my brother, but on my own two feet to his car.
Just to give you an idea of how wild this was, on the fifth day, the physical therapist came to me with a walker. She told me that she was gonig to walk with me down the hall. She explained how to walk (in case I forgot) and said I should only use the walker if I really needed it.