I froze. Time felt as though it had slowed. Its once rapid, rhythmic pace was now disorderly and unperceptive.
In my 16 years, I’ve been lucky enough to avoid the harsh realities of life, so this news came as a devastating and unexpected shock. Over the next few weeks, a looming feeling of change began to set in, so I did what any kid would do, I tried to ignore it. I spent my days ensuring I didn’t have a moment to sit down, and my nights drowning out the uncertainty with mindless television. But it didn’t work. No amount of distractions could prevent how I felt.
As time passed, I discovered that I wasn’t alone; in fact, many of my friends had gone through similar experiences. We shared stories, they offered advice and I leaned on them for strength. This companionship offered me a crutch, something to help me get through the first stretch of this journey. I started to focus on self-care and finding moments of joy among the pain. I prioritized spending time with my mother, getting out of the house and restoring a sense of normalcy in my life. Slowly, there was light at the end of the tunnel. I began to feel like myself again, stronger and more resilient than before.