Dear Daisy

If there's one thing that age and experience has taught me, it's that I'm never too old to learn something new or change. Neither are you, for that matter. Turning 25 always felt like such a distant milestone, as if my frontal cerebral cortex would ding like toaster oven once I reached the day. I was so sure I would feel like a full-fledged adult, with a car, license, apartment, partner, and career.

One out of five isn't so bad, right?

As it is, I feel as if everything I imagined would be concrete in my life is, in all actuality, in flux. Oftentimes I even become overwhelmed with the possibilities of change that I could effect with minimal effort. The idea that I could (theoretically) go anywhere or be anything is in equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

Instead, as the wise Taylor Swift once wrote, I got wasted like all my potential. (Not that I actually imbibed enough to lose my senses). The years of quarantine and isolation really messed with my mind and confidence, even more than they already were. I truly did feel like the world was shrinking around me and I wouldn't be able to grow or change into anything better than I had already been.

So, I started trying talk therapy. Therapy is for everyone. There's no shame in asking for help, especially when it's coming from someone who has based their entire career on listening to your problems. Talking about my feelings to a stranger is only slightly less uncomfortable than trying to do so with my parents, so congratulations to me! I'm on an objectively higher level of emotional maturity than the average Hispanic male.

Even so, it didn't solve my problems or give me a sense of peace like I had thought it might. That's not to say that therapy can't help, but my situation was advanced enough that I needed to start medication for depression and anxiety. I had no idea what a change that could make for my daily life, or the effect it might have on the relationships around me, either. Opinions from both extremes were constantly expressed, either urging me to "just deal with it" sans medication, or congratulating me for "being so brave" in taking that step.

In reality, I just want to feel okay. I want to wake up with the energy and motivation to get through the day without feeling miserable for seemingly no reason. I want to go out in public without having to hide in a bathroom to hyperventilate and come out with a fake smile plastered on my face. I don't expect there to be a pill or a therapist that can undo all the damage I've been dealt. But I'm working on it; working on myself to face my fears and become so much more than I've believed I can be.

An old dog is never really too old to learn new tricks. People just lose patience with the process and the backsliding, and leave the dog in the same state as they were before, albeit maybe with more confusion. So I'm going to keep trying, because I'm worth the effort.