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An interesting life update

While I was walking down Montreal’s Notre-Dame Basilica the other day, I had a revelation. Granted, I might have been hungover and my head was in pain, but I will call it a revelation either way. I was content. At this point in my life, my attempts to figure out if I am happy or not have pretty much failed me due to the fact that at the end of the day, I am human and I will most certainly take anything at my feet for granted. From the very clear outside perspective, I am happy. However, this article will settle for content.

I haven’t posted all summer anything related to my well-being, anything related to my coming back to college, any sort of crumb that would actually articulate how I have been in these past months. Truth is I lacked an answer. My biased opinion of how life is treating me is subjected to my constant overthinking and it ruins my writing – which, by the way, I hate. Thus, the remaining thing was to take a break, though it sounds simplified. After one year at Wellesley, taking a break was the hardest thing I have ever done. This masked ivy shattered my hopes to the bone, killed my spirit, and sent me into complete burn out. My mental and physical health were as worse as they could possibly be.

Whatever people witness on social media, it’s whatever I wish to present. I wasn’t going to post a live video of me crying my heart out the minute I thought about coming back here or how my parents were at a complete loss about the extent of how heartbroken I was by my sole, yet very foolish American Dream, by seeing life as it was not changed one bit upon returning home and questioning why did I romanticize the hell out of something I so desperately wanted to run away from? I found myself on my knees praying to God. Mind you, I am agnostic. So, who the hell was I hypocritically praying to?

All I demanded was some sort of clarity. Where did it all go wrong for me to fly an ocean away only to cry myself to sleep every night? At that point in my life, my greatest accomplishment of 2019 was that I made my therapist cry and that, alone, is saddening. I refused to believe I am so broken nothing can fix me. Depression is one ugly misconception as it unveils in different shapes and sizes, different intensities, different aftermaths. When I wrote that article back during winter break thinking I cracked the code, it only made me sink lower in the pit I was quietly screaming for help. In my mind, no one could reach me anymore. I shook the hands with the devil and called it a day.

However, fast forward during my summer, the break I took began doing its magic. No, I did not find a universal cure for depression, I did not self-medicate, I did not go to therapy, not for one day. My decision relied on running back as fast as possible to the things that made me who I was before my mind went numb. I needed to remind myself of the person I used to be. It sounds farcical, as it should be, like a rundown excerpt from Eat, Pray, Love, but I needed to tell my story with my own words. This is how I healed.

For one, I fell in love. Although I heard a clock ticking in the background each time I formed a new memory being overly excited, love has an odd way of treating a broken soul. It didn’t matter to me that the end came the minute I boarded a plane to Boston, it mattered to me that I feel again alive. Wanted. Present. The silver lining this relationship offered me was to live in the present and stop abusing count-downs until something else happens. Something is always happening. You just have to look for a second. And God, how I looked.

Then, I acknowledged my mistakes. My depression wasn’t hauled overnight, rather unhealthy coping mechanisms I proudly embraced that made me think I was doing myself a favor. Cancelling everything last minute just so I would stay in bed, avoiding human interactions, getting mad at every breathing and living soul who was not like me, fostering anger and frustration like they were my unborn child – all of the above mashed in a wicked Molotov which set me on fire. I started by forcing my mom to go on long walks in the park with me, by travelling with my closest friends to places that were dear to my heart, by going into our small library that smelt like cigarettes, old books, and quietness. In the lecture room, while sweating for the lack of AC or open windows, I was going through a book on Romanian women who made sure soldiers were getting the medical help they needed during WWII. Then was I reminded where am I coming from.

Yoga and meditation were my relief. Every morning, I sat down my mat and listened to Adrienne tell me how to bend and smile while doing it. It hurt. I haven’t moved my body like that in months and it unfortunately showed. My lungs were tacky, my moves were awkward, and my head was throbbing. More reasons to keep doing it until I realized that, finally, all of the weight I have accumulated through stress eating went away and I felt like myself again. Hugging yourself is weird, so do not let others spy on you. However, being in love with your body again is liberating.

Putting pen to paper in reminding myself why I left. I am not the brightest person in the room, but, man, am I dedicated. Whatever the cause my soul happens to fall in, I surrender. Leaving is never easy and cutting yourself slack for the hardships scattered in beginnings is even tougher. The perspective you take from your past is what matters the most and that is: I am a survivor. If I made it out alive of that indelible first year, thus, I can do it three more times. I left because I worked incredible hours to come here and, be that as it may, I am going to (cliché!) unapologetically take space.

Let me come back to the present.

I do not want to say I am happy, yet I feel it so deep in my bones, they are cracking without my consent. I sat down on a bench in the cathedral and took one deep breath. Where I am now, mentally, physically, emotionally, and other -ily ending words, I owed it to myself. I owed it to myself to get back up and do what it takes. I do apologize for my absence (as apparently I keep doing), but it was a good cause. Yes, ladies and gents, I fell in love with myself again. And life as I knew it is more livable than ever. Thank you to everyone who was part or is part of this incredible journey we call life.

PS: my new finger tattoo that I just recently got symbolizes the love I now carry with me everywhere I go and in everything I do. This had been stuck in my brain for too long until one of my best friends said let’s do it and it set me into 5 minutes of gruesome pain, yet unforgettable joy.

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