A Letter to Those Still Learning to Fight Their Demons

My 21st birthday was one month ago. At the age of 17, my future was black. There was no 21st birthday. It was empty space, one that was supposed to be filled with hopes and dreams of the future. There were no images of the many years to come; there were no visions of myself in my college graduation robes, my thoughts typed out for the world to see, the sweet flavors of my wedding cake, or holding my own child. I didn’t crave the future my peers wanted so desperately.

I want to tell you that it will be okay. That it is going to get better one day. Those things are true, but true healing lies in the depths of your emotional banks. It is not easy, by any means, to dive so deep. Sometimes your true emotions exist in a version of yourself that is unrecognizable to who you know.

There are still slivers of darkness that sneak in the days, weeks, months and years that are lived in the newfound bliss and romanticization of life. That’s not to say that life isn’t beautiful—I have found more beauty in myself and the world than I knew was possible. Healing was like turning the saturation up on your picture of the sunset. It was beautiful to begin with, but now the grey and faded shadows that cover the deep pink and red streaks decorating the sky have disappeared to almost nothing.