It sucks, but it is what it is. I know I’ll make it through this alright, just like I’ve made it through so much else in the past. I still have hope and confidence in the fact that I will feel normal again soon. It may take weeks or months from now, but I will survive, and I will get better. I just hope I start feeling better sooner than later, because it sucks to feel like shit, and I’d love nothing more than to feel lasting joy and peace, enjoy my life in a body that works better than it ever has before, and start writing for my memoir again. I took a break from writing for an entire week, and am now taking advantage of one of the rare times when I can string more than a few coherent sentences together at once, before that ability fades from me by tomorrow. 

I’ll continue doing what I’ve been doing to keep myself together the best I can. Medicine is important, but not even close to being the only thing that will drag me out of this black hole I found myself in. I’m just gonna have to grieve, process, and accept my past, while continuing to take care of myself. I can’t avoid the grief. I can’t fight it. I just have to feel it and go through it. It will just take time for my mental health to get better as the grief slowly becomes less potent. I'll also find medication that works for me, but again, given the circumstances, that will also take time. Thankfully, it’s time I actually feel I have.

Having my physical health has relieved the pressure of time I’ve felt for so long. Just a few months ago, I was painfully aware that I had only about twenty years left or so, at least according to the doctors. Now, I have more than double that time to live. And, I can’t wait to feel better again so I can start actually living, and not just simply surviving while struggling through a midlife crisis at eighteen. After all, I have so much I want to do and accomplish. I just need to get my mental health under control, so it won’t get in my way as much as it currently has been. 

On the flip side, without that pressure of time, I feel much less motivated to do things. Since I no longer have only twenty years left to live, I might as well slow down. In fact, my parents and therapist have encouraged me to just slow down and try to appreciate the littlest things right now. It's hard for me to slow down, but I've been forcing myself to. I don't need to travel three or four times a year to see the things I want to see in my lifetime. I don't need to rush to get into college or find a feasible career. I don't need to finish my book within (X) weeks. I don't need to be super paranoid about catching any flu or colds, especially since I had my first normal cold a few weeks ago, and only knew I had it because I was sneezing.

Also, I tested positive for Pseudomonas again (and it's in my lungs), and have started a new antibiotic treatment for it. But, the infection is benign. It didn't have an impact on my lung function or energy levels, and I don't feel any different two-and-a-half weeks into the antibiotic treatment (which is in nebulizer form). Knowing this, I am no longer anxious about getting sick, even with things like Influenza A floating around, and COVID-19 which has dominated the news with sensationalized headlines about how "scary"  and "world ending" it is, which it's actually not. (An internet friend of mine, who has CF and lives in Hong Kong, told me you likely won't catch it so long as you wash your hands frequently, avoid touching your face, and avoid large crowds, all of which I'm an expert at. It's been two months since the virus first appeared in Hong Kong, and my friend is happy and healthy as can be, despite being a lot sicker with CF than I am).

I can just relax, which is really weird. I clearly have no idea how to relax. And, even if my mind is relaxed (mostly because I struggle to even think most of the time due to depression), my body isn't. Most of my anxiety attacks are totally physical and happen out of nowhere for no apparent reason. Of course, they are scary. But, I know exactly what I'm dealing with. When I first started having those surprise anxiety attacks, I thought my Pulmonary Atresia had come back to bite me in the ass. I mean, it wasn't a totally illogical thing to think. Knowing my luck, since I conquered CF for the time being, it was time to deal with PA again. But, that's thankfully not what was happening to me. I wasn't having multiple heart attacks or strokes a day. My PA is still just as asymptomatic as it has been for over a decade. I was just anxious. And, I still am. 

I'm honestly afraid of living a lot more than twenty more years. Things like my parents aging, politics, finding a career, where I want to live, and so much more, have been gnawing at me ever since my life expectancy has matched that of my peers. In the past, I never really worried about those future things, and accepted that I'd die a lot sooner than my peers. But, now that I'm going to be alive a lot longer that I previously thought, I might as well start thinking about the things I used to never give a damn about. However, I'm avoiding things such as politics as much as possible, until my anxiety gets under control. I don't need to figure out where I stand politically at the moment, or learn about just how screwed we really are.

Although, I did get my primary ballots in the mail a few weeks ago or so (because I'm a registered independent, I got two ballots in the mail but could only turn in one), which forced me to do some very basic research on the candidates listed. I wasn't impressed at all by the choices, and cringed as I slipped my ballot into the ballot box after filling in the bubble for who I thought was the shiniest turd. I'm not at all excited about dealing with things such as politics, but as an adult who's going to live a lot longer than twenty years, I might as well exercise my rights. The next right I plan on exercising is my second amendment right, as soon as I finally decide if I want a 20 gauge shotgun or a .22 bolt action rifle. Oh boy, that's going to be a very difficult decision to make. I love bolt-action rifles, but I could also use a bird-hunting shotgun that won't knock me to the ground and give me a bruised shoulder for a week (unlike my dad's antique 12-gauge). 

Anyways...

I guess I'm kind of in the same state of mind a 50 or 60 year old would be in, if they were given a pill that gave them an extra hundred years to live so long as they took the pill everyday. That's basically what happened to me. I think everyone in that situation would have a major existential crisis, kind of like I'm having at the moment. Just think about it that way before you go on chastising me for being anything but a ball of excitement and joy. I feel like I just got hit by a truck, and am still in shock from it two months later. It's going to be a long time before I feel completely better again. 

With that said, I can feel myself slipping back into the fog again. Things will get better soon. I’ve just gotta keep reminding myself that. Depression and anxiety suck, but at least I know what I’m going through. I have a lot of hope knowing that these problems won’t last forever, and I’ll soon feel better again. I’ve just gotta take it one day at a time, and before I know it, things will return to normal.