To being 18 years old
By: Alifa Diamantha
Tags: Reflections, 2020, New Year, Birthday

At this age of 18 years old, I am almost 100 percent sure that I’ve cried the most than any other age. Honestly, I’ve never been much of a crier. When I was younger, especially around middle school, I thought that crying makes you weak. Of course, that thought only applied to me, much like any other negative thought I had to bring myself down. Because of that, I kind of mastered the art of holding in my tears. I have probably swallowed a sea worth of tears in my lifetime thus far. As much as I thought I was being strong for learning not to cry, I was obviously just as wrong. What I thought was a sign of resilience and strength was really just an excuse. An excuse which was detrimental to my ability to show my emotions to anyone else.

Well, it goes without saying that I still had moments where I couldn’t hold back. But even then, I always do it alone, probably in a bathroom with the shower on so no one would hear or in bed with my face muffled on a pillow. And so, any chance I had to cry or just to simply show my uglier emotions were gone. All I could do was to suppress them until I was alone so I could unleash them in the rare moments I needed to.

What really pissed me off about this year, of being 18, was that it was supposed to be The Year. I always feel like being 18 is so special, the perfect age to be where you’re not an adult quite yet but you’re not a child either. The age where you enjoy the privileges of being an adult without the responsibility. Last December, it was a really nice time. My first semester was wrapping up and I had lots of things planned for the next year. Most of all, I think it was a time I genuinely felt I was healing, like the possibility I could be okay was really, truly there. It was the best I felt in a really, really long time, especially after hitting rock bottom mid-year in 2019. I thought, I really came a long way from high school me. I was a lot more open and sociable, plus I didn’t hate it. Being seen, that is. Oh… I really thought I would be able to show a more honest side of me. Before I could though, well…. this year struck.

It’s basically a global consensus that this year especially sucked for everyone. I felt like all the growth and healing I put so much effort in the past year just all fell down on me. I took maybe three steps forward and landed on a snake which brought me all the way down to the beginning. It was disheartening to say the least. I was excited to live for once and suddenly the world forced me to spend my 18th year on earth confined in my bedroom. The me in college, the friendlier and louder me, suddenly felt like a really faraway dream I forgot I ever had. Being back in my bedroom where I spend almost all of my time in made me feel like that 12 year old kid again. Afraid and lonely. What’s worst is that I didn’t have a choice. I loved being alone, but nobody likes being forced to do anything. It was especially hard because I’m incredibly bad at keeping tabs on people through social media. And now, I’m left here, alone yet again, feeling smaller than ever.

Frustrating. I guess that’s how it felt. For a very long time, one thing that I want, really really want was to be held. I want to cry and be held. I want to cry and feel safe. I want to cry with someone caressing my back. I want to cry with someone soothing me. I want to cry and to be told, let it out, it’s okay. I feel like that’s not too much to ask, right? I can’t remember the last time I feel held. Maybe elementary? Or kindergarten? I don’t know and it doesn’t matter because I don’t remember how it is, to feel safe. I thought I could do that this year. Even if I can’t, at least I would still have a choice to. It just frustrates me so much that that choice was taken away from me. It’s not even a big thing to want. I don’t think I’m being greedy for wanting this but the world doesn’t care about what I want and took it away from me anyways.

I didn’t expect I would cry much this year. I obviously expected the incoming depressive episodes, but the crying was surprising. Throughout maybe April until September, I had my fair share of weeks where I just couldn’t bring myself to do much or even anything at all. It was a really long break and like I said, I’m bad at keeping relationships, let alone online so I barely talked to anyone in those months. This third semester is tough but at least through classes, I had an excuse to hear or talk to other people. During the break though, I felt completely isolated. It was kind of the usual. I was having a hard time functioning, it was hard to eat and shower and I spend most of my time blanking out, I barely remember what I did or felt during those months. Perhaps I just didn’t feel anything. I was completely numb. Yes, I didn’t have the energy to talk, but at least I also didn’t have the energy to cry or throw a pity party for myself and sulk for days. It wasn’t out of character for me so I wasn’t surprised. All I did was sleep, wake up, and go back to sleep wishing I won’t wake up the next morning.

Maybe the energy shifted in October. I was already feeling a little down and life just keep throwing its punches to me. I cried… maybe a few times in October? Which was already odd to me, seeing that I cry at most once a month or just didn’t cry at all. It was early November when I noticed that I cried a lot. I would comb my hair, go to the bathroom, make some tea, and I would find tears falling. It was really surprising. I remember there was a week where I cried everyday from Wednesday through Sunday. At first I thought, hmm maybe it’s hormones? But my calendar said I had my period already so I couldn’t blame it on that. Since then, I guess it was just downhill. Actually, I was already going downhill so maybe the slope just got that much steeper but now I think I’m just free-falling. I was crying so much that I felt so dehydrated and would wake up with a puffy face often. I would even cry minutes before class where we’re supposed to have our camera on or even before I have to do a presentation. I was miserable. Kinda still am.

All I could think of whenever I cry was “Ah… I wish I was held.” Other times, I wished I had someone to call but whenever I was close to call someone, I could never bring myself to. Ugh, this is all middle school me’s fault. Look at what you’ve done, you completely disabled your ability to reach out for help and now you’re a dysfunctional human being. So stubborn. All throughout November and now December, I could feel all of my will to live leaking out of my body. I am exhausted. I am angry, frustrated, hopeless, lonely, you name it. I thought I had hit rock bottom last year, well boy you are in for a surprise then. I feel like maybe all the tears I swallowed back then never went anywhere and was stored inside my body. Now it’s taking revenge and forcing itself out. But I don’t feel relief. People say you cry so you could let it out and that you would feel lighter after you do, but I don’t feel any of that. I don’t feel better. Maybe because I didn’t get to achieve what I want. It really does make me angry that the year I was able to cry more, I was forced to do it alone. It really, really does, to the point I could punch a wall.

This isn’t really a hopeful message. I don’t expect next year to be better, or for being 19 to be easier. Personally, I really don’t like the age of 19. I think it’s a really ugly age to be and I feel like my 18th year was stolen forcefully out of my hands. I keep grasping at being 18 but it feels like holding sand in your hands. It’s useless to hold on to it and impossible to stop time from moving, even if you don’t want to. Being 18 felt incredibly long, like I’ve been 18 my whole life but at the same time, it also felt incredibly short and it just ended abruptly like this. Nineteen. What a weird age. I would be turning 20 the year after that and I feel like being 19 is just unnecessary. It’s a weird bridge to cross from being 18 and 20. Maybe I should just jump to 20 and skip being 19. Well, I would if I could but just like time, you can’t skip from one number to another so I have to live through another year being the ugly age of 19.

If you asked me what I learned in the one year of being 18, I couldn’t say much, except that I probably uncovered some new ways that I’m totally fucked. It’s not that nothing good at all happened this year or that nothing good came out of being at home 24/7. I rediscovered my affinity to crocheting, I could spend more time with my cats, I came to love poetry, an art form I used to dislike because I used to think it’s so pretentious. I learned how to play a few songs on my kalimba and I learned that it’s okay to drink tea with sugar again. I didn’t bake as much as I thought, but I watched some really good movies and cartoons. I listened, discovered, and rediscovered how much I like some artists. I liked seeing the view that my bedroom window has, a view I could see from my desk. A tree with vibrant yellow flowers, a dim street light, the roofs of some other houses, the sky. If I move to my bed, I could see the street that would reflect car lights and the street light when it rains. I repainted my bedroom walls. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I watched the sunset hundreds of time while laying on the hammock hanging in my balcony. I took my cat out to eat some grass. I watched the clouds. All in all, some good things happened and it helped me a lot but I guess I’m just human after all and I could only focus on what’s been stolen from me. My supposed special 18th year on earth. As it turned out, it really wasn’t special at all. At this moment, I am still bitter. All the big things that took place this year was just horrible. This year has zero redeeming qualities. Most likely, I would still be bitter about this year for a long while.

But…. just like the good time I had last year and earlier this year, it will pass. Just like the numbness I felt for a good number of months this year, and I’m sure just like the overwhelming amount of emotions I feel right now, and I hope just like the bitterness of my stolen age, it will pass. I would feel happy again, I would feel sad again, I would laugh again, and I would want to die again, that’s just how it is. As hard as it is, well, it just…. is. Nothing I could do really, other than hope I will keep feeling happy when I’m happy and hope that I will feel a little better when I feel down. I know this isn’t that positive but maybe it’s not really positivity I need. I just need the will to wake up every morning, day by day. At least for now. While I definitely don’t want to live like this for the rest of my life, I have to do with this for now as there’s not really any other choice. But again, new choices will present themselves as I go through one day at a time and the time where I don’t have a choice will pass as well. 지나가. It will pass. Or, as some people I love most would say, life goes on.

As much as I wish my 18th year wouldn’t end, life goes on. As much as I wish I don’t turn 19 just yet, life goes on. Yet it also means I don’t have to feel this hopeless and lonely forever as life goes on. Life doesn’t wait for anyone or anything, whether it be joy or despair. Life goes on. I hope it means just as well and brings you lots of comfort, as it does for me. I wish you well, every single one of you and especially myself.

Life goes on, like this again.