On Being Alive
Two years ago, on this date, my mom was killed. Months before that, a close friend of mine took his own life. Months after that, my grandmother, who effectively raise me, died. I have been trying my hardest to keep moving forward, even when it seems impossible. There have been times where I am ready to give up. Lately that seems to be the only option.
I have had to deal with my depression since middle school, and I have become aware of my issues with anxiety since starting college. On top of both of those, dealing with the trauma of everything surrounding my mom's death has been one of the greatest challenges that I have ever faced. Unlike the academic challenges that I welcome and willingly put myself up against such as AP, IB, and now my Master's Degree, I don't know when this will end. I often fear that it will never end.
There are days where it feels like I am living a normal life, free of existential burdens. Days where I can enjoy life, the company of my friends, and fun activities, all without my fears looming over me. But these days are few and far between. I am constantly trying to balance keeping myself busy enough to distract from my emotions while not overworking myself into complete and utter exhaustion. Unfortunately, for the last year, I have been leaning heavily toward the latter.
Is this what it means to be alive? To constantly run from my nightmares while maintaining some facade that I am outpacing them? It's exhausting. At first, I struggled with even opening large packages. I was terrified that I would receive a package bomb much like the one that killed my mom. Even with a suspect in custody, I feared for my life. I still do... After enough time, I was able to move past that fear and onto the next: talking to people about what happened.
Ever since my mom died, I have been extremely aware of how I phrase my sentences. "My mom is" or "My mom was" is a decision I have to make every time I talk about her. Do I use verbiage that indicates that my mom is dead, thus inviting a request for an explanation? Do I bite my tongue and pretend that everything is fine? More often than not, to make things easier for everyone, I choose the latter. Nobody knows how to respond or help whenever they find out, and I feel awful burdening them with the information. It is easier for everyone, including myself, to avoid recanting the traumatic events altogether. For so many reasons, this is extremely taxing. There are cases where this is impossible to avoid, though.
When is it appropriate to tell someone that my mom was killed in an explosion that left almost no identifiable remains of her? When should I tell someone that I often fear that I will be the victim of such a targeted attack? How do I so without alienating those who are close to me? I don't know the answer to these questions, and I don't think there are any answers. Unfortunately these questions, and a plethora of similar questions, are constantly spinning in my head. They often keep me up at night when my insomnia is particularly bad.
As with any intractable problem, I do my best by making educated guesses. I try not to burden anyone with this information unless I have known them for enough time, or until I feel comfortable sharing this part of my story with them. I have built my support system that I heavily rely on. I have my coping mechanisms, be they healthy, self-destructive, or anywhere in between. Although these strategies can have adverse effects on my well-being, they are often sufficient (and sometimes necessary) to distract me from my deepest fears and traumas.
Is this all there is to life? Is my eternal task to establish and maintain support networks that keep me out of the void of rumination? This is untenable and unfulfilling. I have my own aspirations and dreams that I have to sideline in order to maintain what's left of my sanity. This is impossible. Why do I bother trying? I just... I just want to give up. I am constantly so fucking tired of existing. Nothing seems to work. Nothing seems to improve. Everything is futile.
"Chaos already dominates enough of our lives. The universe is an endless raging sea of randomness. Our job isn't to fight it, but to weather it together, on the raft of life. A raft held together by those few, rare, beautiful things that we know to be predictable."
- Abed Nadir, Community (Season 3, Episode 4: "Remedial Chaos Theory")
Why do I keep going? I recently told a friend, "I have no will for anything left in me. Yet, I have never before felt so much love for the people close to me. I'm doing this for them." As morbid and scary as this may be to read—and admit—this is the truth. Those who are close to me and the organizations that I am a part of have given me so much. I have been supported every step of the way, and I try very hard not to take that for granted. Thank you to everyone involved. Thank you, the reader. Everyone has their burdens that they carry. Big or small. Private or public. I hope that one day I will be able to support those close to me as they have supported me. Nobody should ever have to go through something like this alone. I am not sure where I would be without my support raft.
“Yet, even amid hatred and carnage, life is still worth living. It is possible for wonderful encounters and beautiful things to exist.”
- Hayao Miyazaki, co-founder of Studio Ghibli
Life is scary, but it is beautiful too. There is so much out there that it is incomprehensible. So much so that we often overlook the vastness of everything that there is. So much to do, so much to see. So what's wrong with taking the backstreets? Life is what you make of it, whatever and however that may be. I find it incredible that our eyes can see a candle light from a mile away. Similarly, a modicum of hope shines bright in the omnipresence of fear. That's what I see right now. I'm not sure what it is, how far away it is, or what I need to do to get there. However small it may be, that's all I've got.
That's what I'm holding on to.
"Life isn't always this happy, but you have to keep living on! I'm going to try!"
- my mom