I wrote this sometime in 201X.

Episode 35. She’s sitting on the swing, not rocking much, and staring out into space. She had little idea what she was doing, and had been walking, wandering, for awhile. When her name is called she runs off.

Today, because I’m frankly Internet Millennial Scum, I thought of one in the style of those over-elaborate and weirdly-specific “Current Mood” meme:

Lynn Minmay running off the stage, for she no longer enjoyed singing.

And that is a nod to Episode 34: After declaring she did not want to sing, she runs off the stage and away from a disappointed audience.

It took me this long to realize I was in that same predicament.

I was (am?) Lynn Minmay.

—

Between the long work hours and exhaustion and expectations and stresses of being a brokeass Black queer that was unable to follow the same Picket Fence Blueprint as most folx (not to mention the growing pains of learning), I lost myself.

My hobbies began collecting dust. I withdrew. I never talked much, but at that point I could’ve been an good mime. My writing slowed drastically. I stopped dreaming. I stopped day dreaming.

I didn’t quite enjoy things anymore. That is, if I ever did anything. Auxiliary power seemed to go toward anything I could shut my mind off yet still enjoy it. Or escape. Temporarily. Because the knowledge of what awaited me was always there: grind and disappointment. And when I did have time, there was always one question: What the hell do I do with myself?

Depression, punctuated by anxiety and the occasional crying jag, was all I was. There were still good times and my self that could be gleaned through the cracks, but they were becoming fewer and fewer. True happiness seemed temporary; sometimes it was better not to even try.

In a non-poetic way: I lost my mojo.

I’ve lost touch.

“What am I even singing for?”

And thus I limped through for a year or three.

Fast forward to a year later, this month. Change happened. And I am just able to put it all into words now.

“What am I even singing for?” That was a question that haunted the back of my mind, but now I must answer.

Because I thought I just “changed.” Or worse, grew up! Who’s got time for hobbies? You should be happy with a 30 minute walk around the block! You’re supposed to be an adult now! And like, you’re too tired for all that fun stuff anyway. Better save up your strength for some adult thing or whatever.

Bleak, yeah?

Have I changed that much? Am I a boring ol’ so-n-so that doesn’t have enough time anymore?

I honestly don’t think so.

There have been genuine changes– no one can be static forever, I think of them as enhancements– but there is still the hint the things that are simply just buried.

I’m finding me again.

I’m finding my songs. My old ones.

And for the first time in too long I can see the finale: yes, walking toward the sunset in a ruined city and the SDF-1 totaled… but I’ve made peace with Misa and Hikaru and there’s a new song on my lips.