‘The Good Life’ Is NOT The Four-Hour Work Week

If you ask someone under the age of thirty what their dreams are, how likely is it they will answer, ‘To invest 10,000 hours into the Mastery of my craft’? Not very. You are more likely to hear about some passive income business they wish to run via their phone, from a tropical beach. How likely is said young person to even have a craft, to even have something they are Mastering? Again, not very.

We live in a culture that values money, fame and instant results. Social media pours gasoline on this fire; creating false expectations for what our lives should be like, for what the day-to-day should feel like; only setting us up for disappointment.

Mental illness seems to be more prevalent than ever before, particularly amongst young people. There are a few theories attempting to answer why this is, but the one relevant to this essay is how our expectations do not align with reality, with the way the world actually works.

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Falling In Love Triggered My Borderline Personality Disorder

Just over a year ago, sitting on a beach log with my mother, I told her, “Honestly, at this point, I don’t know if I even want a relationship.”

This shocked her. I had always been a hopeless romantic—someone in love with the idea of love—so it was strange for me to be spouting this new idea.

But, by the last quarter of 2021, this was where I was at: my heart had been broken enough times for my brain to question whether or not love was worth it. Everyone probably feels this way at some point in their life. Couple this normal human experience with the crippling fear of abandonment that my borderline personality disorder plagues me with, and I had a lot of incentive to never make myself vulnerable again.

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A Letter To The Therapist Who Threw Gasoline On The Fire That Is My Borderline Personality Disorder

Dear therapist,

You know I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. In fact, you helped me recover from it eight years ago. You know, for me, it manifests itself as an extreme, irrational fear of abandonment, and frantic attempts to avoid said abandonment. You have worked through these issues with me before.

Alongside my borderline, you know I am the most anxious fuck. No one needs to bother warning me about the sky falling, because I am already well-prepared for all the potential ways the sky could fall.

Tied into both my anxiety disorder and my BPD, you know that one of my greatest flaws is how I struggle to let go of intrusive thoughts and pull myself out of obsessive thought loops.

To put it simply: my mind often feels like a prison, a prison I have no escape from. Sometimes, if I catch the trigger early enough, and if the right supports are in place, I manage to crawl out of the thought loop. But when things get really bad, I often feel as though the only thing that can save me from my own mind is time.

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