‘26

‘26

I have interestingly gotten to the point in my life where I look forward to writing this birthday note or life update or whatever it is.

Firstly, I finally got around to seeing a therapist, and maybe this note is a plea to you all to come together and sponsor my subsequent sessions because why didn’t anyone warn me about how expensive staying sane is? Anyway, I was referred to a psychiatrist and, oh well, I haven’t seen that one because I’m not sure I should choose staying sane over affording food. I may be mad, but I am no fool.

Anyway, one thing this year has been for me is seeing myself for who I am. This was part of the reason I went for therapy and also saw a gynaecologist. I was so interested in seeing myself for who I was so I could optimise to function with whatever “differently abled conditions I have.” This eventually taught me something: the power in naming things. The funny thing is that naming things doesn’t mean finding a solution for them, but acknowledging them, giving them a name, is giving them a form…and in doing that, you can point to them, possibly confine them. It also means that what you feel or go through is not all in your head…maybe it is though, because why do you see a head doctor to name it?

I have struggled a lot with the voices in my head, but for the past year, my head made so much noise I heard nothing. It is the same thing that happens when you listen to an array of noise in a high pitch; it gets to a point that they just blur into nothingness and you hear silence, but that does not stop the accompanying headache. When different pieces of hair get tangled, they form a single ball, but to get rid of them, you have to begin untangling, as messy as it may seem.

So when the voices returned, they were overwhelming, and I remembered the particular one from high school, the one that nearly drove me to the great beyond. I knew it, and I knew I couldn’t fight it alone, not this time. I was already spent, so again I had to seek professional help because I knew there wasn’t surviving a second duel with that voice in my head.

On side pursuits, I think I should document, for the sake of myself really and anyone else, that I have proven to myself beyond reasonable doubt that: I am materialistic asf. I can’t stand casual meanness.

Because I am focused on improving my writing skills, I’ll expatiate.

I love to gift people, especially when I am financially liquid, I mean…obviously. And even when I am not, I still try to get people little things. I genuinely could not endure being with someone who struggles financially. I am not even sorry, but this is who I am. Sometime last month, I had come across a tweet of a moot saying she believed there was some level of financial maturity someone should reach before talking to her, and I wholeheartedly agree. I know it will only be so long before I begin to act a witch. There was a point in my life where I probably wouldn’t have cared…but I was young and dumb as a rock, and quite frankly not honest with myself.

Turns out, I am extremely petty, and it doesn’t help that I subconsciously keep scores. So it’s on autopilot mode; if you have done something casually mean, I will retaliate in kind, no matter how long, except I somehow believe life has helped me settle the score. That means I can’t dismiss flippancy or intentional snide comments because a part of me swears that deterrence can only be established by retaliation. Is this a good or bad thing? I honestly do not know, but I have zero plans to change.

I can’t remember how this epistle is supposed to go. What comes after reflections and realisations?

Oh, I know. I have become more heavily opinionated about feminism; I think I became radical sometime this year. I have always had heavy reservations on marriage, although sometimes they get blurred by when I see someone I really like. However, at this point, nothing blurs that reservation anymore. The prospect of that genuinely bothers me, and I view it from a purely transactional lens. However, the more important thing I have begun to scrutinise is childbirth. No help from my recent treatment options that hysterectomy is a consideration. I love kids, do not get me wrong, I love kids so muchhh. I stop all the time to say hi to random kids everywhere and get them stuff when I can. But the process of having one, especially in this part of the world where childcare is solely the mother’s responsibility…I honestly lack the mental fortitude for it. I can’t, not at this point in my life.

This is beginning to read like a sober reflection, but I am genuinely too exhausted to steer it back into whatever it’s supposed to be. My birthday is in 2 days and, well, I feel like I have wasted 7 years of my life in this godforsaken school. Sad part? I have to waste approximately 2 more. But only one person seems to get it; every other person seems to not be able to hear me when I speak. It’s like Wernicke’s aphasia.

I try not to wallow in whatever this feeling is, but I can’t even remember or be who I used to be. I had so much I could have become, but now it all just lies fallow, and I can barely even get the will to survive as the days go by.

And oh, sometime last year, I was assaulted. One of the only two people I told went ahead to dilly-dally with the assailant. Now that I think about it, it’s so comical I can’t help but howl. This is getting long and pathetic.

However, when I tell people to stand up and go again, in spite of it all, it’s simply because I can relate to the hesitation, the genuine tiredness, and everything else. But ultimately, we have to get up and go because that is what humans do. That is what we have to do.

Always.