I began to wish for simplicity when the clock struck 11:11 twice a day. I don’t know why that was the first sentiment that surfaced in my mind. In plain sight, my life was already simple. I had great friends,  a stable family life, and I was doing well in school. But everything inside felt so unsettled that I began to embody that unsettlement, and I became unhappy with both my life, and myself. On paper, with the things that were changing, the discomfort made sense. I came to college for the first time, leaving the only life I had ever known behind. My dad moved for work, creating a greater physical distance between us. My childhood home was about to become somebody else’s, and bits and pieces of those memories started to fade. But it was all okay because I was raised to be strong.

I realized slowly that it was becoming increasingly difficult to get out of bed in the morning to attend class, to go outside, even to eat. I ate less and less and the weight started to fall off quickly. Honestly, I was relieved. I wanted the pounds to disappear; my self-confidence had already been diminished. But I wasn’t intentionally starving myself- I just wasn’t hungry anymore. I’m still not. But the less I ate, the harder it became to have a life that existed outside of my bedroom. And I believe it was because I felt unloved, invaluable because the men I allowed into my life were not worthy of my love.

I thought it could fix them. I thought I’d be the deciding factor in their lives. I thought, “This time, it will be different.” But I degraded myself when I went back to a boy who openly referred to me as his w****. I let myself down when I allowed for another boy to convince me they were what was missing from my life. I dug myself deeper when i set expectation but fell in love anyway when they were not met. I lied to myself when I said that an instance of passion could just be physical. I know I am a person who falls in love with everyone I meet, but I am a fool for believing that everyone else could be as capable and open to love as I.

My anxiety surfaces when things begin to feel different. I experience physical expulsions of my pain leaving me, lying on my cold bathroom floor, crying. There’s nothing I can do. Someone reveals to me a side of them I hadn’t seen before, and I blame myself for their changing. I sift through the ashes looking intently for that defining moment that I lost what had once been. My depression surfaces when I’m left feeling empty and all of the voices in my head tell me I am okay because I was raised to be strong, but I no longer know my strength and I’m stuck.