I don’t know how I let myself not write for so long. I don’t know the transitionary states that enabled me to come to a point in my life where I feel overwhelmed with despair and uncertainty and so much negativity for life. I think life was happening too fast for me to catch up with it and actually sit down and reflect, and I know I say this all the time – but writing has been the one constant in my life that has gotten me past everything so far. And perhaps, the lack of writing is what has resulted in a coat I have started to wear of being undeniably cheerful, because I can’t possibly articulate my despair and frustration for life in a few coherent sentences. In order for someone to fully understand the magnitude of my experiences would be endless conversations over many, many cups of tea – and even then, it would be a futile, discounted attempt at the full entirety and essence of what I am currently feeling. But, I have never needed external understanding of myself. I think I desperately sought it because the conversation helped in bringing about clarity and an oppurtunity to reflect. And it’s cheesy, yet true – but writing has always done that for me when I have fully thrown myself into the words, without thinking of consequence and possible judgements from strangers. And it’s a shame that I had temporarily forgotten that.
This year has been a constant struggle. I realize the word struggle may be quite strong in the large scheme of the universe. But, within the context of my short 22 years, I am truly believing that this may be one of the hardest periods. I have never felt more confused. Although I have felt unbearable loneliness, overwhelming amounts of suffering and pain – this may be amongst the top worst times. I feel like my next steps in the post-grad life is what will ultimately define me. I feel like I am unable to physically cope with the fact that I have a chronic health condition that nobody will ever understand, that will plague me till the very end, and ultimately – I have no control over.
And this is what I am struggling with – an ultimate lack of control.
My health, my lack of direction, my lack of career path, my lack of Plan A, B, C, D, E, F.
And the crippling, unrealistically high expectations I have of myself, weighted with those of my family, and the generations before that.
And the truth is, I know it will all work out. I know that something or the end will end up working out and it’ll be fine and in a year or two or five, I’ll be in a better place. But, I’m currently in what seems like a blackhole of a limbo period and I’m honestly getting so tired of pretending I’m fine.