Often, there is an unrelenting cascade of questions that pops into my mind at any given part of any given day or night. Ah, the joys of living. One such question is: what inspires me to keep on moving forward in life? This question has followed me around throughout the day and well into the night; so much so that it has unequivocally inspired me to write a post. Now, onto the answer.
Growing up, I was always interested in writing (as I’ve alluded to in the past). As such, I failed most of my classes in elementary school and most of junior high in favor of writing short (but rather banal) stories. But it was exciting and fun. These two aspects of feeling have gradually faded out as I’ve grown older. A shame, really. Moreover, as I’ve alluded back to, I was essentially pushed into a major in engineering. Or, so I thought. I’ve thought quite meticulously about the aforementioned feeling of coercion into a STEM major and what I’ve come up with surprised even myself. After a short but intellectually enlightening conversation with one of my housemates earlier in the week, I realized that I do in fact like engineering.
Growing up through the tumultuous years of high school, I would devour popular science books, particularly about physics. I loved physics in high school but was quite average at it. Yet my dreams of becoming a great scientist never seemed to dim. However, as I got older in high school and specifically during my senior year, I realized that pure physical science may not be the discrete route I wanted to take. Rather, while discussing things over with my dad, I thought about electrical engineering. My grandpa was an electrical engineer and I grew incredibly curious about the field of electromagnetism (which at the time, I had a very poor knowledge base of).
I graduated high school and entered a four-year university. During my freshman year, things went absolutely haywire as I came to terms with the overarching nature of suicidal ideation and major depression. Thus, I was promptly withdrawn from school and spent two and a half months in various mental-health facilities. Now, quite frankly I learned a lot about myself while I was away and I’ve indubitably grown stronger and more resilient as a result. Furthermore, while away, I realized even in my darkest and most emotional times, I still found it imperative to help others. Late one night after being transferred from one facility to the other, I dialed my unit’s phone to call my stepmom. We talked for a solid half and hour and, upon listening to my various lamentations about how depressed I felt and about how I wanted to die, she asked me one thing (which has always stuck around in the back of my mind since): “What are some of the things which have made you happy — even if just a modicum of an amount– in the last couple of days?” Without hesitation, I answered “my dogs and helping (a rather old but surprisingly sprightly) an old lady to her seat (at our scheduled dinner time)”. My answer managed to be the catalyst in letting me recover from my worst depressive episode, which led me free from the paralyzing abyss I had found myself in. Thus, a new thought found itself into my mind: “People. People inspire me!”
Furthermore, in trying to get through last Fall, I found myself slipping down into the aforementioned abyss near the end of the quarter. By the start of week seven, I found myself becoming increasingly suicidal and profoundly depressed. Yet, I didn’t tell a soul. I kept it hidden, thinking I was resilient enough to overcome this by myself. We live and we learn, so to speak. One night, after an extreme bout with ideation, I found myself on my bathroom floor. Directly beneath me was my razor and my journal. The journal has long since been tossed out, but it included a very hastily written and rather morose suicide note. I was ready to go, or so I thought. No thoughts of inspiration circulated throughout my mind; only vicious and malignant wounds. Upon believing that I was going to go through with my plan to kill myself, I began to cut away. I stepped out of the bathroom only to let out a blood-curdling scream: “fuckkkkkkkkk!” I was finished. I was no longer the person I tried so hard to be. I had utterly failed. Gratefully, the police came and I was later hospitalized.
Eventually, I was to head back to my apartment once my hold was over. Upon getting home, I had a candid conversation with all of my housemates and I found out that I was indeed loved and looked after. Although they didn’t exactly understand what I was going through, they were understanding. Thus, inspiration seeped back into my mind.
Since last Fall, I’ve tried incredibly hard to mitigate my depression and speak honestly about how I’m feeling. I haven’t missed a day of medications nor have I lied to myself about how I or who I am. My inspiration now stems from my desire to live an earnest and productive life. In so doing, I seek to accomplish manageable “little” goals over the many years that will follow me in life. This is my preeminent goal in life. One such goal is to connect with others and join in on the burgeoning dialogue concerned with mental health (and especially ideation and depression).
I may not always ride life’s storms in a way I see fit, but I’m still here. And my inspiration shall follow me into every crevice of my ever-changing life.
Inspiration awaits you when you’re seemingly unconvinced that it will be there. That is its power and it’s a captivating thing, really.
My question for you is: what inspires you on a daily basis and what seemingly trivial events in life do you cherish?
Up the Down Turn 