Who am I?

After a conversation, someone asked me who I used to be, who I am now, and why I changed. This was my semi-long response.

When I was younger, as I may have mentioned many times, I played a ton of sports, mainly baseball. At the busiest we had 3-5 practices a week, 2 hours each, and 2 games on the weekends. I was practically my entire life, literally. If I wasn’t at school there was an extremely high chance I was doing something related to baseball. I had met all of friends through our team and maintained relationships with them because of our common interest. I was most certainly a jock, though I like to think I wasn’t the douchey kind. I was the nice kind who just happened to actually be rather good at sports. That aspect hasn’t really changed but I’ll get to that later. So, my life was based around a baseball schedule and that was working fine for a while, until something snapped in my mind. At school one day, while playing basketball, someone in my class hit me from behind rather hard and I fell to the ground. I felt fuzzy the rest of the day and my head was uncomfortably distant feeling(if that makes sense). I felt like something wasn’t attached properly. After a visit to the doctor a few days later it was explained that I had a concussion. It didn’t stop my baseball practicing though it probably should have. Ever since then I’ve been unable to remember certain parts of my life. By certain parts I mean most of my childhood. I remember things here and there but for the most part I don’t have recollection of anything pre-16ish years of age. I can’t remember classmates or teachers from high school or junior high, and even some of the teachers and classes at college I can’t remember. When I began to recognize that I was loosing memories and that it wasn’t normal to forget things so simple, my life was taking a turn for the worse. From age 17 to 19 I suffered quietly(I didn’t tell anyone) from depression. No one really knew, though neither did I without confirmation from a doctor, what was going on until June 15th 2009. I cut myself for the first time and I felt incredibly sick and uncomfortable and was having trouble breathing. I went to the hospital when I woke up the next morning and told them what happened. I was cheery and approachable, like a normal kid, but the doctors could still tell that something was wrong with me. I was sent to a specialist after the doctors in the hospital were done testing for viruses or family/drug abuse. Finally, after suffering for two years by myself, I was labeled as clinically depressed. It didn’t feel as comforting or relieving as I had hoped. In fact, I felt no different then I had a few nights earlier when there was more blood then tears. I was given a prescription and pointed in the direction of a therapist, but that was all the specialist could do. I used the prescription as directed for about 6 months as well as going to a therapist which was one of the best things I’ve ever done(I suggest therapy to anyone I run across who is having trouble, the opportunity to speak uninhibited is unbelievable comforting). I stopped taking the medication without telling anyone which, thinking back, was an incredibly stupid idea, though I had my reasons. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. Sure I wasn’t as depressed, but I certainly wasn’t happy. The medication dulled all of my senses instead of dulling my depression. I would rather have the chance to be happy and depressed then be a bland person without emotions. A few days ago it was the anniversary of that fateful night, and it passed without notice, which was a stupendous step forward for me. It may be because of my concussion, or my development as a person, but I’m forgetting who I used to be and moving on, albeit slowly, with my life.
So, to answer your questions. Who am I now? I don’t know. I’m not sure how to label myself and I’m not certain I want to. Why did I change? I didn’t really have an option. The night I cut myself, I had told someone I was friends with at the time that I didn’t see myself living to turn 20 years old. Ever since then I’ve just tried to keep my esteem and confidence up enough to stay alive. That sounds kind of extreme but it’s the only way I can explain it. I miss the way I was because I was able to write with my emphasis on emotion. Now, I feel like I still can but I don’t want to because most of my emotions remind me of that one moment in my past.
Also, to get back to this “I was the nice kind who just happened to actually be rather good at sports. That aspect hasn’t really changed but I’ll get to that later”. I don’t like saying I’m good at things, its just a pet peeve of mine. I prefer modesty even if I know otherwise. But since this is text and does not always elicit a response, I will say that I was actually rather good at baseball. My last season I batted .428, which is good. There really isn’t another word for it. I pitched well and could play 1st base as well as anyone else. I was talented and I enjoyed it. When I dislocated my shoulder, I lost all of that along with the thing that scheduled my entire life. Its part of what led up to my depression.

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