Five years ago, I was where I am now, but in a hellish version of it. I had a job I loved, but was being paid shit. I had a boyfriend I loved, but he was abusing me. I had friends I adored, but deep down, I felt empty and unloved. I was in graduate school and trying to start my own company, but was spinning my wheels.
Eventually, everything failed. I was let go from the job, my abuser showed his true colors, my “friends” betrayed me, and as the despair set in atop my chronic depression, I had to drop out of school and put my dreams of entrepreneurship on hold.
I desperately wanted a do-over.
The thing was, I’d felt this way before, and its inevitability terrified me. I felt suicidal, feeling like I couldn’t escape my cruel existence, of which déjà vu was the theme.
A few years before, I’d been in the same hellish place. Again, it seemed good on the surface. I had a job — I didn’t love it, but at least I had one, and a boyfriend, who was a complete narcissist if not a sociopath. I had a huge friend group, but they were superficial and toxic. I was in college and trying to rock it, but was endlessly distracted by the drama and my ever-worsening mental health issues.
I had a do-over — or so I thought. I moved to a new city and cut ties to toxic people. I was celibate for awhile. I focused…
