In Spite of Myself
by Anna Myers
I’ve made a lot of resolutions throughout the years. To be healthier, to write more, to procrastinate less, to stop eating so much sugar and go to the gym at least once every six months. To take better care of myself, to stop yelling at my mom when I know she’s right, to savour the moments and travel the world. That kind of thing.
This is the first year that I only have one, One Big Resolution. The rest will take care of itself, I’ve learned, more than if I try to force or mould it – better to focus on loving greatly, breathing deeply, trusting and trying my hardest. That’s where the good stuff usually comes in.
But I do have one thing I want to work on, in 2017, and that’s energy.
I want more of it. Everywhere, all of the time. I want to spritz energy from every pore. I want to breathe it, I want to feel like I could burst with it. In my veins, in my limbs, falling from my lips like golden syrup and shining from my eyes so bright you could see it from the moon.
I want things to be different, this time around.
I lost the first part of this year to depression. Then it got better, and it got bad again. A week here, a weekend there, a couple of days in between. Sneaky, devious, popping up whenever she felt like it – no warning, no excuses. Like she belonged. And then she would go, just as unexpectedly as she’d come, and I’d be left wondering whether I made the whole thing up. For things surely couldn’t have been bad as I made them out to be in my head? Surely, I was fine. Everything was fine, I kept saying to anyone who’d listen.
But just as I’d managed to convince myself, she’d creep back up again and send me tumbling to the floor. And repeat.
I want to leave a few things about this year behind, but this, this is a necessity, not a want. I need it to stay in 2016, so it can get dusty, lost and forgotten. So I can breathe easier.
This year, I’ve also had glimpses of a different reality. A pretty one, one with lots of walks and books and songs and projects and paycheques, lots of life like I haven’t seen in a while. And for all of the comfort, the solace, the protection from this big ugly world that a warm bed and an empty bedroom can give me, I’ve decided I like that reality better. I’ve caught bits and pieces of it, here and there, and like a wide-eyed child I’ve pointed and gone: ‘That! I want that!’
I want that. To get excited about things, to genuinely care about things. Passionately. Wholeheartedly.
I want that. To allow myself half an hour or so at the start of the day to wallow, comfort, and feel smaller than my body, if that’s what my heart needs. And then to get on with things. Life. All that jazz.
I want that. To stop getting in my own way and in my own head. To delete that sad playlist. To go easy on foundation. To exercise because it makes my heart soar, not because I’ve grabbed at lumps and slabs the night before and I woke up feeling worthless. To eat on a table, and not in bed where I leave crumbs and spill soup and find maccheroni lodged behind my pillow a week later.
I want that. To let people in. To ask for help. To prolong hugs and kisses. To kiss better people, kinder people. To kiss everyone I feel like kissing, without worrying about how much they like me or if they noticed where my underwear is cutting into my the fat on my hip or that I have a zit on my left eyebrow or that I laugh too much when I’m nervous. Or to worry anyway, because that’s the way of life, and then leave it be. Just enjoy the damn kiss, girl.
I want that. All of it.
And it starts with me. It starts with wanting things to change, and doing something about it. It starts with being brave enough to make that commitment, and then with the energy needed to stay on course, because I know putting in the work, hours, and sweat, will likely take a toll on me. And I will want to quit.
But I’ve tried that too, and it’s no better, so listen up, brain, ’cause we’re doing things my way now. Loving greatly, breathing deeply, trusting and trying my hardest. Repeat.
Anna Myers is an actress/writer/clumsy person navigating life in London. Her work has been published on Thought Catalog, Poets Unlimited, Soul Anatomy and She Did What She Wanted. She laughs really loudly and cries to a lot of John Mayer songs, but if that doesn’t scare you off, she’s always up for a chat on twitter and you can read more from her at www.annamyers.co.uk.