I've been rewatching Ozark. The third season features a bipolar character, and his storyline has been hitting me hard.
There is an emphasis on "getting better". Staying somewhere and getting better. Giving things time.
It's been making me wonder if time really makes things better.

Time heals wounds, but it doesn't fix broken things. It helps with grief. It helps forget the things that make it worse.

Twelve years ago, things got bad enough in my life that I attempted suicide. I had no psychological safety nets at the time. No mental security. What saved me at the time was a mix of luck, a couple of smart decisions on my part, and the good will of some people I barely knew.

I have since spent a lot of time creating and nurturing safety nets to make sure this never happens again. A variety of social, technological and mental mechanisms to stop me at every step, should things ever get this bad again.

And now, I'm... alive. Things got bad this last month. Really bad. Worse than twelve years ago. Worse than they've ever been. But I'm alive. My safety nets worked. I wouldn't be writing this without them.

I'm getting the feeling that I'm going to carry this burden for the rest of my life. Time didn't fix shit. I just got better at defending myself since.

I just finished Elena Ferrante's "Neapolitan Novels" and am grappling with this idea of time and the aging process.

Some themes that I find peculiar are:

• Those pesky things our parents told us in adolescents, which we often absentmindedly or hotheadedly disregarded, make much more sense as an adult. And, sometimes, we don't get the chance to share our revelations with them.
• The things we wanted to dissociate from/ we found disgusting as youths are things we may cling to for comfort as an adult. (Be that as it may, sometimes the things they say are atrocious, which makes one think, what atrocious things am I saying now?).
• Sometimes the things we fear are inevitable.
• Things we said and our attitude towards our parents were harsh. As we grow older and become the receiver of such harshness, we grow to have compassion for them (possibly after they have passed) and wish we were kinder to them.
• Quarrels between friends and family members seem so important at the time of the incident, however, as space and time grow, those quarrels fall to the backdrop. Human connection is craved and desired more as we age. This makes me feel that grudges are so wasteful (although I am guilty of holding them and am holding them currently - That's an internal battle I am fighting).

There's more I can say about this, but I should hold back from rambling. So, what do you think of when you think of time and/or the aging process?

It feels so strange. I am right here in time. Not in the past, when I screwed up some stuff. Not in the future when I'll be living somehow, whether like a good adult or somehow else. It just feels strange to be so aware of it. So aware of the moment, of the fact that I am currently typing stuff into a textbox on a website, hoping someone else relates to this feeling.