Nineteen years. Of life. Good lord.
I feel like it was just yesterday that I was sitting in primary school thinking ahead for fun about what life would be as a teenager. And here I am, wondering where the hell my teen years went.
I guess I’ve never properly FELT like a “teen”, apart from the occasional general irritation that I felt with the world for not “understanding me”. And when I think back to feeling that way, it’s a combination of nostalgia and disgust with myself. However, to be fair to myself, I definitely didn’t feel the push to rebel that most people report. And I’ve always felt older than my years, always the voice of reason among my friends.
This past year was crazy, to put it lightly. The things that happened during last year changed my life and understanding of it forever. I came shockingly close to collapse, to giving up, to stop trying to go on. It took every ounce of faith, strength, and love for my family to not just let myself fall into the depths of what was the worst despair I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Until now, I still have bad days. Days when all I can do is cry, in fear and anguish at the thought of it happening again. I look at my sister, and worry for her so strongly that I feel like I’m going to be sick.
I haven’t been able to discuss what happened with anyone really. It’s so painful to think of, and I haven’t even been able to get it down in writing. Perhaps one day I’ll manage to get it all out. Perhaps I’ll manage to articulate the horror of last year that has seemed to define the eighteenth year of my life.
I am waiting anxiously for this year to be over. I honestly don’t want to face this year. I feel sometimes that I’m going mad from the choking fear of a relapse. As much as I feel like throwing up at the idea of being 20, I wouldn’t mind it so much if it meant I wouldn’t have to spend this year counting days before the anniversary of every ghastly milestone.
I’m trying to put it behind me. If not forever, then at least for today. I’ve curled my hair, and munched on brownies that my sister made me. The events of last year has already impacted everything from my eating habits, to my sleep, to my studies. In every dua I make, there is one for her. I need to overcome the fear. The anguish. Or else I won’t be able to successfully live my life. It’s going to take a lot from my part, but I need help. And I have no idea where to seek it.
This post took an unexpected turn. But then I suppose no one really knows where their writing will take them.
Happy Birthday dear self. Breathe, make dua, and try to relax. Even if no one else is willing to bother to say it… everything will be ok.