a year later...

A year ago today, I thought I was dying.

16 years was it, I suppose.

Well, maybe not?

Through everything, I’m still here.

For whatever that’s worth.

Year 16 was definitely not sweet. I actually spent my second day as a 16 year old in the hospital. I sat in there for hours then realized, they really couldn’t help me. So home I went, and the next day, I thought I was going to die. I was dying but no one could help me, and I knew that. This day? It’s an anniversary, not for me, but for that. I remember that day a year ago so vividly. Little did I know what it was the start of. Little did I know that fear for my life wasn't just a one day thing. It’s part of me, in a way. That’s what this anniversary is. It doesn’t feel like it used to. I know one day it will. I know one day, I will be past this all. Maybe not right now, maybe not this day. Today I am going to let myself feel, in whatever way that is.

17 seems weird. It feels old. Not old, not adult, but definitely older. 17 feels heavier than 16, not necessarily in a bad way. I’m trying to just let it be that. No expectations, just observations.

16. I think that number will always stick with me, again not in a bad way, it just was a year, a heavy year. Honestly, I don’t think I ever really reflected on it. I don’t think I ever let myself reflect on it. I have been reading probably one of my all time favorite books (the ruthless elimination of hurry, I’ll talk more about it once I finish it) and it struck me that I never really let myself think. Sounds crazy, I know. I sit down and write these blogs seemingly very open about everything in my mind, but I’ve noticed that I tend to block out a lot. It’s easier that way… well kind of. It’s probably the root of a lot of problems, probably why I don’t know how to really talk about things. Who’s to say, really. I’ll figure it out. Nonetheless, there’s no denying this past year of my life has been, well, a lot. Let’s talk about it.

So yeah, my actual 16th birthday wasn’t all that great. I was overall angry and full of a lot of negative emotions. I mean, it was meant to be my sweet 16, right? I can’t help but think about what past me would have thought about me spending my 16th birthday in bed… well, then you know, the hospital. Honestly, was I wrong to feel angry? Wouldn’t you?

It was a year full of questions. “Am I getting better?” “Why do I still feel like this?” “Why can’t I just be better?” “What am I missing?” “Am I doing something wrong?” “Am I the problem?” “What more must I learn?” “Why is God doing this?”

I constantly found myself questioning why. Questioning God. “Why hasn’t He just cured me?” “Why is He letting me suffer?” I didn’t see it then. I’ll be honest, sometimes I still fail to, but maybe I don’t need to. Contentment is key. But I wasn’t, wasn’t for a while. I started noticing, though; suddenly, I noticed the light. It was only a little spec, but I found it. It’s there, it’s real.

“I wish to be better.” A bold claim, in a way. Did I want to be better? Do I want to be better? Of course. But, given a time machine right now, I wouldn’t go back and heal myself. Nope. I needed to be sick. I need this. I did want to be better, I do still, but I only saw half the picture. What would it look like if I was better? What would I have missed? Argumentatively, I would have missed more being healthy, than being sick. Another bold claim.

If I’ve learned anything this past year, it’s that being sick like this gives you a completely different point of view; a completely different way of thinking. Things start to matter more, everything does. People start to matter more, so much more, in a whole different way. Little things carry weight, good weight. You start to notice. Eye opening, even. I feel like I’m finally beginning to grow into the person I have always wanted to be, and if I hadn’t been laying in that hospital bed a year ago, if God had cured me upon first request, I wouldn’t be here.

I was listening to an old podcast again the other day. In it he was talking about needing to take a step back from his relationship, not because he no longer felt love, but because he needed to remind himself how to love; needed to remember the why. That really stuck with me. A step back. My take: sometimes, it takes losing what makes you happy to remind yourself why it makes you the happiest. Often, we get so lost in the routine that we forget why we love it. Life gets old; it gets comfortable, too comfortable. Sometimes, it takes stepping back (or in my case, getting forced to step back) to remember how much things matter, how much everything matters.

This past year, I got to remember. Man, how great that feels.

The amount of pain I’ve felt this year has nothing on the amount of joy I’ve felt.

I remember how much I love living. How much people mean to me; how much they fuel me. I think I forced myself to forget that one, it was easier that way. I felt I couldn’t count on people. I had people, but it felt easier to just depend on myself rather than them. That way, there’s no let down. Letting people in means letting in their opinions as well… which I still struggle with. Trusting people is hard, and I am a very trusting person, which is why it’s hard for me to process everyone's “truths.” Who do I believe? Everyone but myself, apparently.

Luckily, I found people. Well, they found me. Right when I thought I didn’t need anyone. Or, more so, when I didn’t want to need anyone. Funny how God does that, right? I was losing faith in people, so He showed me His people. Part of me is still skeptical, continuing to work on that. Maybe a bit heartbroken as well. People leave. Things change. It happens. I hate change, I hate disappointment, but perhaps I hate being alone more.

May 25th. I tried my best to go into this day with zero expectations. Now if you know me, you know that’s basically impossible. Honestly, I tried to expect the worst today so there was no way I could be disappointed. I didn’t want to make it a big deal because I didn’t want the let down of it not being a big deal. Perhaps that’s backwards, who’s to say really.

Despite it all, I love my life. That feels so odd to say, I thought it wasn’t possible until I was cured. “Once I’m better I’ll…” I’m done saying that. I’ll do it now. I can be content, right now. That’s all I can ask for. I keep chasing a “more” that I will never get. I don’t want more, I'm good here. It’s not perfect, but it will never be. Perfect would get old. I’m alright.

I’ll love my life, for what it is, not what it can be.

Sure there are still things I genuinely cannot do until I’m better. There are some things that will probably always stick with me, but I’ll be okay. With whatever I can, and can’t do, I’ll be content. This illness can’t take that away from me.

17. A new year. Can’t wait to see what joy it brings.