To be honest, I blame most of my feelings on my PTSD. Indeed, I had a very traumatizing childhood, as much as I try to downplay it. A hallmark of a traumatizing childhood is the desperate desire to never return- or even come close to- places where the trauma occurred. Basically, while GALS itself wasn’t a traumatizing experience (it was actually a really good school, all things considered), I was constantly sick and even ended up in the hospital for two-and-a-half weeks while I battled a severe MRSA infection. I also hated school in general for a myriad of reasons, including the fact that I simply couldn’t keep up with my peers no matter how hard I tried. 

That in itself solidified in my mind that I’d, “never make it!”

On top of that, my family life really, really sucked. Both my parents made terrible decisions when it came to picking partners, and I suffered a lot due to their shitty choices. Being a moody teenager’s hard enough for anyone. Throw in an extremely volatile, broken family and Cystic Fibrosis, and again, it’s easy to understand why I’ve wanted nothing more than to live alone in a cabin in the woods, far, far, far away from society. 

But, instead of spending my days rotting away in a cabin somewhere, I’m back to going to school in downtown Denver, less than a mile away from where I went to school a decade ago. And nearly every day, I’m bombarded by once-forgotten memories from my past that… let’s just say, they don’t make me feel very good.

However, I must endure these feelings; let them flow over me unabated so that one day, sooner than later, I can fully heal. Especially since they’re really just feelings, and things are so much different today than they were back then. 

In other words, I can’t use my past to predict my future. 

Logically, I understand that. I understand that I’m now a healthy adult, and not a sickly teenager. My university grades are exceptional. Opportunities are opening up left and right for me, with many, many more doors I’ve yet to even knock on. God only knows what lies beyond them. 

I may feel like I’ll never make it. I may feel like the odds are insurmountable and stacked way up against me. 

But, can I be sure that I’ll never make it, despite my best efforts? Should I just drop out of university and barricade myself in my mom’s basement forever, upon falling for the belief that I was destined to be a loser? Absolutely not!

Sure, there’s a chance that I’ll end up destitute, alone, and broke after all this. I know many such people, some of whom are/were my very own family members. But, so long as I continue to press on through university and work hard towards my goals and dreams, no matter how distant and unattainable they seem to be, there’s a chance that I won’t end up destitute, alone, and broke in the end. In fact, if I continue to chase every lead I get and graduate with a degree, the chances that I’ll succeed will outweigh the chances that I’ll fail. 

Therefore, I must keep going. 

I must endure.