Note: This post is unlike anything I’ve ever published before because it was never written with the intent to be shared. It’s actually a journal entry and not an “omg my blog is my journal” one, but a “this is my private journal kept under lock and key” one. I don’t know how to explain it, but over the past week I’ve just felt compelled, or rather pushed, to share? It’s still in it’s completely original form. It hasn’t gone through rigorous rounds of editing and second opinions like my typical posts do. It is extremely raw and rough. So here we are, me anxiously typing away, translating the scribbles from my journal and you wondering just what the hell you’re getting yourself into by clicking this link. Here goes nothing…
it’s past one-thirty a.m. as I’m writing this. thoughts of survivor’s guilt swirling and keeping me awake with the two year anniversary of kayla’s death looming. i can practically hear her yelling at me to get my head out of my ass and get some sleep because i have a full day of classes tomorrow. but despite the chamomile tea and xanax, it’s impossible. so here i am crying over my journal instead.
with the recent improvements in my health and the promise of a future my guilt has only been increasing. it’s hard to wrap my head around why; why she had to be taken so young, why any of the people I’ve lost over the years had to be, why they all suffered so much, and why the hell I’m getting a second chance... of all people, why me?
i try to rationalize it in some sick, twisted way, attempting to find logic in the illogical, but always end up feeling even worse than before because here is the cold hard reality: i don’t deserve to be here any more than any of them. i tend to get overwhelmed and hung up on that fact. i put pressure on myself to work extra hard to overcompensate, to somehow be “deserving,” something i’ll never achieve because here is the other end of that cold hard reality: i don’t deserve to be here any less than they do. i do not have anything to prove. my worthiness comes simply from being a human being, it is inherent and can never be detracted from nor added to by the actions of others, even and especially when that action is an untimely death.
i often feel like i “owe” them, those who i’ve lost. that because i’m getting this extra time they “should’ve” had, i must take full advantage of it or it’s an insult to them. that me sitting here working on this stupid fucking journal entry is a waste of time when i could be working something with the potential to “change the world.” but that kind of thinking is just as problematic as thinking there’s some reason i do or don’t “deserve” this gift of extra time. because if i’m constantly spending my time trying to earn something that’s inherently mine, something entirely un-earnable by nature, well that’s far more of a waste, isn’t it?
see, i don’t know if i believe that everything happens for a reason per say, but i do believe that it’s up to us to find a reason for everything that happens. to find the gratitude in the guilt. to find the purpose in the pain. to find the happiness in the hopelessness. to feel deeply without allowing the emotions to consume us entirely and prevent us from being fully present in each precious moment.
and so that’s just what I intend to do.
life is messy and so damn chaotic, but that’s what makes it beautiful. that’s what makes it worth fighting for despite, hell, in spite of all the seemingly unending tragedy.
“but I am alive and I’ve made up my mind to live fearlessly running wild beneath the trees above a ground that’s solid at the core.” - lucy dacus, “map on a wall”