Life is full of expectations. And I think, for the longest time, I didn’t realize that many of them were not mine. As I am turning 30, I reflect on what I have accomplished so far, and naturally, beat myself up for what I haven’t. That is, until I realized that the expectations that were lacking were not things I ever wanted for myself to begin with.

“The mental health risks people take in being an online personality become more prominent as their popularity grows. There is a lot of pressure to be “on,” be “perfect,” and be everything your audience wants you to be. You feel pressure to give them what you know they want - more content - and the hunger for that content never ends.”

The difference between me accepting my issues in the past versus now is just patience. Every time my mental well being makes a turn for the best, I get to reset my rejoicing, as much as I return to feeling hopeless when I am emotionally attacking myself for what feels like the 1000th time.

The most difficult thing to commit to, believe it or not, is failure. It’s hard on you mentally—it pulls on you, convincing you that you should commit to giving up. It feels easy at first because it’s all you know, but eventually, the weight of knowing you could have tried harder is too much to bear.

So now, you tell me. Was ignorance bliss or was awareness my savior? Was my diagnosis my crutch or my comfort and explanation? Should you continue sleeping through the nightmare because you just want some rest, or should you violently wake yourself up and go through the painful process of dealing with things?