I don’t know what to do. It feels like the walls are collapsing over me but I have nowhere to go, no one to trust, nothing to find comfort in. I feel tortured and useless at the same time, but most of all, I feel hopeless.
Hopeless. A year ago, I wouldn’t have dared to say that word out loud. I was always the over-achiever, always the person that made their voice heard amidst a heavy blanket of silence.
But then again, I wasn’t fearless. Even as a child, I was scared of the flickering shadows on the walls and the weird creaking the stairs made late at night. I was still young and innocent enough to be frightened by such small things. In fact, I would trade anything to go back to that life, one without regrets or debilitating grief. One without having to fear for my health or how my my twisted mind will find another way to manipulate me. One without having to think about the boniness of my arms or the locks of hair adorning the carpet.
They call it natsukashii, or a nostalgic longing for the past, with happiness for a fond memory but sadness that it is no longer. When I view my childhood through the rose-tinted glasses of experience, I tend to romanticize it - but that’s precisely the point. After all, when life feels like a series of lows, there’s always that original high point. I want to remember the fond memories of my childhood, not those of the deeply uncontrollable and nightmarish year of 2020. I want something light-hearted to pass on one day to my children, not something that will terrify them.
I’m scared, and I want to get rid of this uncomfortable, itching feeling. I want to go back to a simpler time when I only had think for myself and not for others. But I don’t have that privilege. Despite the my intense natsukashii, nostalgia for a forgotten past won’t help. There is only a future to meet, and whether I meet it on my own terms - or it’s - is the only choice I truly have in my destiny.