I feel so fatigued today, as though the weight of my being is pulling me down. My thinking is fogged and I find myself crying often. There isn’t a specific trigger I can recognize, which makes me think that maybe it’s my depression acting up. I’m taking my meds and attending therapy regularly but I can’t stop feeling sh*tty. It’s like I’m doing all I possibly can to feel better and yet my healing journey is at the pace of a snail if it does exist. I’ve had enough therapy to understand that repressing and resisting my emotions doesn’t serve me and that I must allow myself to feel. I wonder if it would be possible to just un-feel. Feeling so intensely is what could be narrowed down to the cause of my suffering. If only I could care less or convince myself that most of it don’t matter; but deep down I know it does. I matter. My hopes and dreams and aspirations matter. That I must continue to show up and fight for myself. I might not see the point of it at the moment but that’s probably because I’m stuck in struggle and troubleshooting mode. What’s scary is that when I’m overwhelmed with pain and grief, I forget what it could look like to live the life I’ve always wanted. I can’t seem to picture and feel the zest for a future when I could be authentically, unapologetically me. On such days, I read my comfort excerpts from my favourite books, take a long hot, bath, and blast my go-to pump-up songs on my headphones. I’ve learnt to be patient and kind with myself; although I haven’t been able to love myself completely. When I realized this, I felt angry and ashamed, like there was an incongruence between what I wanted and what was. Gradually, I understood that self-love is a process. Currently. I’m focussing on being okay with myself and not being angry at myself for feeling like crap. I’m sure that 25-year-old me would be proud of me for pushing through and fighting off the abyss. I’m aware that it might not be possible to eradicate the role mental illness plays in my life. Given my history, there is a possibility that I may have to always deal with it in some shape or form. What I know I’ll do differently is seek help. I would not let stigma ruin my chance at a functional life. I want to have a future where I can look forward to milestones in my life. I’ve realised that happiness is more of a lofty goal that most people tend to set for themselves. I feel like I would like to feel less miserable. I’m aware that eliminating suffering is not realistic, but I aim to make the pain more manageable. I stumbled upon a letter I had written myself when I was 10. It ended by asking if I was finally happy. 8 years later, I’m by no means qualified to answer, but I will give it a shot anyway. I’m not happy with certain parts of where I am. Though, I’m proud of what I’m doing with what I have. I’m grateful for my experiences as they helped shape a huge part of who I am. And the way I interact with the world. However, I acknowledge that trauma is not a right of passage, in growing and becoming oneself and growing as a person. My trauma did not make me evolve, it was the work I did around it that resulted in my growth. I could have grown without it as well. One realization I’m thankful for is that while trying to navigate school, grades, adulthood, mental illness, coming out, conflicts at home and my entire life, I do not need shame for being human. I allow myself to embrace what I feel without being belittled by it. I know that there is valour in vulnerability and courage in compassion. After believing otherwise for quite some time. I am confident in my abilities and strengths and plan to work hard to succeed. Staying with my parents in an environment where I witnessed emotional, mental and verbal abuse, I’m proud of standing my ground, being unafraid to speak my truth and refusing to be gaslit. When I think of the joy my future holds, I imagine I’m travelling solo and the day is warm. I wake up to a bright morning and make the perfect cup of coffee. The sun and breeze are in perfect proportion. And I decide to go for a run along the beach. I come back and read a book while sitting on the grass. I decided to just scroll around the neighbourhood to discover as I go. I walk by teenagers chatting about the vibrant culture and cute cafes. I get dinner on my way back to my accommodation and crawl into bed and watch Netflix. There’s a candle lit somewhere in the room and its scent is similar to what I remember from my childhood the soil smelt like after the first rains of the season. I enjoy an ice cream before bed and realise I forgot to check my phone all day. But I can’t be bothered about it. I slowly fall asleep to crickets chirping. Life is good. This is what my definition of happiness looks like. I know that a day like this won’t last forever and for every great day there will be a terrible one. But, I guess, that’s who we are. I might oscillate between light and darkness and that’s completely okay. I might not be glad or satisfied or whatever. I might just be. I might simply exist. For all I know, there may be turtles all the way down. I want to work to ensure that I learn to deal with the darkness without wallowing or getting encompassed. I’m no longer trying to defeat the infinite turtles that I will encounter, I’m fighting to make them more bearable. I want to feel alive and have some element of control instead of dragging myself and meandering through life.