Eighteen. What a glorious age, supposedly filled with youthfulness, beauty, and excitement. It is an age that is somewhere between an adult and a teenager, and an age which you are allowed to have as much fun as you desire. It is the time when you graduate high school, and begin a new university life. A lot of people begin wearing makeups and start paying way more attention to how they appear to others' eyes. Freedom. Liveliness. At least for most people.
18 is, or was, or will be quite different for me. What may be the best year of many people's lives is what is the worst year of my life. Of course I cannot predict future, and incidents far worse could very well occur. But for now, it is the worst year. I kicked off this year with some dreadful shit, experiencing complete and utter despair that I had never even imagined before. But I had hopes; I had a hope that I will somehow get better than it was, a hope that I will one day be able to return to my normal life with a normal fucking body, without every inch of my skin rebelling against myself. I was hospitalized and got better than before, and almost went back to what I was before. However, just when I thought it was all good, it started attacking me again. Just when I thought it was going well. What a hateful bitch! With a series of breakouts and healing and breaking out and healing again, another kind of despair -different from the despair I had felt when I first caught the disease caught on me. Before, i somehow knew I would get better, but now, I know it will haunt me again and again until the end of time without healing completely. This fact struck me hard. I felt like I was crippled and I felt slain. Lost.
It is not my wish to keep nagging about my "struggles" over and over because it gets boring after a while.
It is undoubtedly unfair and self obsessed to say that every single person on the planet enjoys being eighteen as I have described above, because there are definitely number of people who do not feel as jubilant. There are people who are in a worse situation than I am. I know. I know that what I'm going through is not as great as what some other people are going through. But that does not reduce, or alleviate my pain by any means. Just because someone else is suffering to doesn't mean people shouldn't recognize your suffering. Everyone has their own pain and every pain counts. Comparison would only make one miserable, unworthy and lost. I don't feel like anyone can imagine waking up and being disappointed every day. Sometimes it deprives my will to do anything and I just sit there and do nothing like a sedentary useless couch potato. I know I should work and be active but I just can't gather up the courage to do anything at all. It is probably time I accepted myself for who I am right now, but my cowardice prevents me from doing such. Am I a perfectionist? I probably am.
It brings jealousy and plain pain to see other people and friends enjoying their sweet, precious eighteen days. I'm not condemning all those enjoying. If I hadn't had this, I would probably enjoy being eighteen as other people are doing and probably not even pay attention to what people like me are thinking. Yeah, so maybe one good thing coming out from this is that I now understand or try to understand what people like me are feeling, whatever that means.
I am complaining about my life and being a drama queen like Taylor Swift all I want, but I think it's up to me to make this better and nobody else. But I've done everything I can and I feel like it's up to Jesus to make me better. Please make me better Jesus!!!! Give me strength!!!!! (Oh god since when am I a Christian??) (and a big fuck you to this blogsite for putting atopy healing methods advertisements. How dare you. You understand me though. Good marketing.)
To sum this whole lamenting and depressed shit up, what imma tryna say is that I AM SO FUCKING JEALOUS! OF EVERY NORMAL PERSON! WHY AM I LIKE THIS