Note: I'm putting this in my blog because I know it's not book material, but it's my best shot at writing for almost two weeks, and I'm sure I said some important things here and there while I rambled on that should go into my memoir. Also, it just feels good getting stuff off my chest that's been there for awhile.

I’ve been feeling pretty badly lately. I know I should be nothing but ecstatic and at peace, knowing I have my physical health under control. Prior to Trikafta, my physical health wasn’t improving. It got worse more than it got better, and in many more ways than just a few. So, people could easily understand why I was always anxious, and usually didn’t get upset when I was. 

But, now that I’m on Trikafta and my physical health has greatly improved, my mental health tanked and very few people are still as gentle and understanding as they once were. After all, I should be happy and at peace. I have my physical health under control, things are peaceful within the family, and I have good friends who deeply care about me. What is there to be distraught about? 

Truth is, I’m tremendously overwhelmed by the amount of change that has happened in just the last few months or so, let alone in just the last few years. On top of that, I have a lot to process and grieve over in my past. I understand that I’m grieving a fantasy. There never was a time I didn’t have CF or Pulmonary Atresia, and there's probably no such thing as the multiverse, so there isn't another copy of me in a different universe living the life I'm currently grieving over. But, I just can’t help but wonder what life would’ve been like if I was born with a normal, functional body. 

Every time I discover something I can do now, that I was never capable of before, I can’t help but cry over the fact I missed out on that for eighteen years. I know I still have a long life ahead of me to enjoy the things I was once unable to enjoy, but I’ll forever be missing eighteen years worth in experiences I couldn’t have due to my condition. Eighteen years is not a short time to be missing out on so much, even when compared to a seventy or eighty year-long lifespan. 

Unfortunately, nobody but myself seems to understand that. Everyone I know was born with a normal, functioning body, and most people I know still have normal, functioning bodies. Nobody I know was ever born into suffering like I have, and that makes me feel so incredibly alone. Words just cannot describe how utterly isolating CF really is, or what that isolation feels like. I can be surrounded by people who love and support me, but still feel completely crippled by loneliness.

And, now that my physical health has gotten so much better, I can’t help but feel awfully guilty for being unable to find any joy or peace. It doesn’t help that so many people, including many people who are close to me, have asked me why I can’t just be happy. I received a second chance at life. I quite literally have a new body. Why can’t I just be happy? Why can’t I just relax? Why do I choose to be so miserable?

It’s not like I’m choosing to be as anxious and depressed as I am. I hate my mental health issues so much more than anyone else. I desperately want to be bursting with joy and gratitude. I desperately want to be at peace. Yet, I just can’t force myself to feel good again, which is why I’m going on medication as soon as I can. Problem is, so many antidepressants interact with Trikafta, or are really hard on my liver. So, it’s going to be awhile before I get any sort of medicinal help for my anxiety and depression. For now, I’m stuck trying to fend off my worsening mental health issues with every single coping mechanism I can think of and find out about. So far, nothing is actually working. 

I’m doing everything I know how to start feeling better again. I’ve asked for help and told a bunch of people I know and trust exactly what’s going on with me. I’ve been meeting up with my therapist and various psychiatrists weekly, and checking in with my parents daily to make sure I still have a shred of hope to hold onto, and a place to vent and discuss my problems, while I go through this rough time. Nobody really gets where I’m coming from, but they can sympathize with me, which is good enough. 

I’ll soon be going on medication to help balance out any possible imbalances in my brain. In the meantime, I’ve been sticking to a routine that isn’t exactly strict, but it gets me out of bed in the mornings, helps me keep track of my daily needs, keeps the house clean, and my body exercised. I no longer drink caffeine, and have stuck to eating a very clean diet, full of fruits, vegetables, and fish. I’ve been leaving my house as often as I can, helping out with errands and chores, taking myself to lunch at various restaurants around town (especially Fontana Sushi), going to parks, hanging out at the mall, and just driving around listening to the radio if I have nothing else to do and don’t want to go home. 

Basically, I’ve been doing anything and everything to keep myself from wallowing in my own misery as much as possible. Yet, it’s clear to myself and everyone who knows me, that I’m simply not doing well. I’m not myself. And, it sucks that I can’t just take the advice of a few distant relatives and just will myself out of this. Mental health has just as much of an effect on me as physical health, which is something I was very skeptical of until now, since a lot of my current mental health struggles tend to manifest themselves as physical problems more than emotional problems.