Respawn: A Post About Choosing to Play.

I often can’t believe I’m still here.

For months, I went back and forth on what my first post should be. I wanted it to be polished. Profound. The perfect introduction. I’m not sure if this is it, but writing it has been unexpectedly therapeutic.

It may not be perfect, but it’s honest.

And while this topic might be uncomfortable, it’s real. Despite how isolating it can feel, I know so many of you have felt this way too. That’s why I’m sharing it, because honesty, connection, and truth matter far more than perfection ever could.

...

I’ve spent most of my life drifting in and out of depressive episodes, mostly stuck in them if I’m being honest, caught in the quiet tug-of-war between the urge to live and the longing to disappear.

There were so many moments when I truly thought I was done. When I made plans. When I looked at the world and couldn’t imagine finding my way through it. When I was sure the pain would always outweigh the point. The only thing that kept me here was fear, or what I used to call cowardice.

But maybe it was something softer than that. Maybe, deep down, some small part of me was still holding on. Just enough to stay.

What made it even harder was knowing how privileged my life is, and still feeling this way. I have so much to be grateful for. And I am grateful. That’s what makes it so disorienting.

I could see all the things that were supposed to make life feel meaningful, and yet none of it seemed to matter. Not really. I never felt entitled to my sadness, which only made it heavier. Because how do you explain a kind of emptiness that exists despite comfort? When you have everything you’re supposed to want, and still, none of it makes you want to stay?

That’s the part no one talks about. The guilt of suffering when you’re not supposed to. The shame of not being able to feel joy, even when your life looks like it should be full of it.

But the truth is, survival isn’t cowardly. Enduring when everything in you wants to give up, that’s a kind of strength I didn’t recognize at the time.

And if you’re still here too, dragging yourself through the days even when they feel empty or unbearable, I’m so proud of you. You’re still here, despite everything. Despite how meaningless and heavy it all feels sometimes. And that matters more than you know.

...

I couldn’t stop trying to make sense of it all. Not just the sadness, but existence itself.

The fact that we’re here, expected to carry on, to build lives, to care about things that feel so fleeting. I kept turning it over in my head, hoping that if I could just understand the point of all this—life, suffering, staying—maybe it would feel less unbearable.

Every thought became another loop of questions I couldn’t answer. But the longer I searched for meaning, the more it all blurred into static. Meaning slipped through every thought like water through my hands.

I wasn’t getting closer to truth, just more tangled in the noise. That endless search became its own kind of suffering.

I didn’t sign up for this. None of us did. The choice not to live felt like my one definitive right. Life felt like a senseless loop, and choosing not to participate seemed like the only real control I had.

I wish I could tell you exactly what changed. That there was one clear turning point. But there wasn’t. Just a quiet shift. A realization that if life is going to be absurd and death is already certain, then maybe I could give myself permission to try something different.

To treat life like a video game.

If this experience is fleeting and the rules are absurdly half-made-up anyway, why not play? Why not set ridiculous goals and chase them with everything I’ve got? Why not choose missions that actually excite me?

It’s not a new idea, seeing challenges as growth opportunities and framing setbacks as part of the journey. But something about reframing it all as a game made the heaviness feel a little lighter. Like maybe the pressure to get it right could be replaced with curiosity. Or even play.

Hard levels still come. Boss battles still knock me flat. But now I see them for what they are, evidence that I’m progressing. That I’m leveling up. That I’m not just surviving anymore, I’m trying. And that matters.

If you’ve ever wanted to die, I won’t pretend I have answers. But I will say this: you will die one day. That part is already decided. So while you’re here, you might as well create something with the time you’ve got. Something that feels meaningful, even if it’s just to you.

Set goals that light a fire in you. Pursue them like your life depends on it. Not because it’ll fix everything, but because it gives you something to wake up for. Something that slowly rebuilds your confidence, your trust in yourself, your sense of purpose.

You don’t have to love life to live with intention. You just have to be willing to try.

Willing to see if there’s something on the other side of the heaviness.

And maybe, with enough small wins and wild dreams, life starts to feel a little less like a burden and a little more like an adventure.

I’m still figuring it out, but I’m here. And that’s enough for now.

If you’re still here too, thank you for staying. I see you. I love you. I know you might not believe me. I didn’t believe it either when people said it to me.

But I’ll keep saying it anyway, just in case one day it starts to feel true.

For what it’s worth,

-Charlene Iris

One thought at a time.

One truth at a time. 

Because some epiphanies stay with you.