If I were being completely honest, I’d tell you—it really fucking sucks. I’m always tired, always worried about my future. So many things that once brought me peace are now out of reach. It’s been an adjustment, to say the least. I don’t want to call it torture, but it’s tragic in its own way. One of the hardest things to accept is that I am no longer in control of my body. Instead, I have to surrender to something I can’t control anymore. I keep most of it to myself. It’s too heavy to share with my friends or family, so I save it for my therapist. Toxic positivity is real, and I’m so tired of it. Just cry with me. Be sad with me. I’m mourning the person I used to be, grieving the life I had, and feeling that loss is painful. But through all of it, I see the beauty in life more than ever. Maybe it’s the little things—I don’t know. I’ve accepted that I can’t plan for my future anymore. I live day to day. I cancel plans a lot, and that’s okay because I have to take care of myself. The people who truly care will understand. Texting back takes more out of me than it should, so I don’t always reply right away. And not being able to pursue my dream of music has dimmed my spirit in ways I can’t even explain. I can’t play my instruments anymore, and that loss stings. I laugh off my situation a lot, but the truth is—I’m scared. I think about the future constantly, even when I try not to. I fear I won’t have enough time here, that I’ll leave this world long before I’m ready. But I remind myself that these feelings, all of them, are valid. They’re normal. And I refuse to judge myself for having them.
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