I’m afraid of the truth and it’s hard for me to accept it. Perhaps that’s the reason why I’m so comfortable with writing fiction, it’s easier for me to hide from reality. But words shouldn’t be hidden, and I shouldn’t feel the need to hide them. So, here’s a truth from my life- raw, unfiltered and uncut.
In December 2015 as everyone geared up for new beginnings and a new year with lavish parties and extravagant affairs, I begun mine with my first visit to the ER. There was nothing overly serious about the visit, but it was what ultimately started my own journey into the new year. Once my parents found out the reasons for my visit, they begun to see me differently. Their once perfect daughter had become a truly fucked up being. And, so I started the new year with my school waiving my midterm exams in exchange for me visiting a psychologist for two hours every single day. The exchange was definitely not a fair one, but it had to be done. In my current state, there was no way I could have focused on anything, let alone school. I moved out of my tiny dorm room, and into my father’s hotel room to do so. In exactly three days, my mother flew in to try to fix my life. Despite the support, after three weeks of countless visits and conversations with the school, I moved back home with my parents to complete the school year at home, all by myself.
As I write this, exactly a year later, I can’t help but feel inadequate as I do so. Whenever I think of how I gave up on a life, I feel as if I failed my responsibility of doing so. But, at the same time, I wouldn’t be here, writing this, if I hadn’t focused on myself and my own health. And, so maybe, truths aren’t that bad after all.