There’s something about setting a goal at the start of the new year, in the dead of winter, that just has felt so false to me. I’ve always struggled with depression and anxiety. What is there to celebrate or look forward to when the emptiness of winter threatens to consume me?

I don’t have pretty words. I don’t have any small or large promises for the coming year. I am trying to promise myself that I can make it through this day. They call it SAD or seasonal affective disorder, but it feels like the normal darkness to me. Feels like the same comforting self-loathing I always have.

It doesn’t make it easier to make any sort of wish or promise when I can’t seem to see the light and my body is struggling through chronic illness. The only way out is through and sometimes all I want is the cheat code of the rich. What short cut that privilege must be.

I have no resolution, no goal, no promise. Just the barest thinnest hope that tomorrow I’ll be better. Tomorrow there will be light.