things you unlearn; a diary from September

brown cafe caffeine close up

This content has been archived. It may no longer be relevant

There are things you unlearn on purpose and things that happen to get lost along the way. In the years of self-rehabilitation from depression, anxiety, and a slew of varying versions of panic attacks, I’m slowly finding out what those things are exactly. The things I wanted to unlearn, I know them. But those that I’ve lost, well… I’m figuring out life as I go along.

When I was younger… No. When I was in high school, I was most sensitive. I understood people’s emotions to a degree that I started wearing them like they were mine. In college, I sought to not do that. During my younger years, I didn’t really think much about other people’s emotions, not even my own. I only knew how I felt growing up once I’d grown up to be 15. And I suppose, during the time I was born, emotions weren’t really a topic of conversation. We felt things, but we never discussed them. They were just there like decoration.

How did I feel when September 11 happen? How did I feel when the substitute teacher mistook me for a boy or when the rest of the class proceeded to tease me that entire semester? The feelings I felt, I felt them at the moment, then I let the anger and sadness fester.

And fester they did, snowballing until I finally burst.

But I didn’t know any of that until I got into middle school when my parents subliminally convinced me to attend a school I didn’t particularly want to attend. The same thing happened when I went to high school then to college. I didn’t know these things that were happening at the moment until they’d already happened. These things that I wish to blame on them and to blame on my past self who couldn’t be more aware–

They happened, and I had to unlearn the guilt and undue responsibility I felt.

person holding coat with manicured nails
Photo by Flora Westbrook on

I would like to say that I have no regrets, but I would be lying. I have so much regret weighing on me that it’s been difficult to move on. The regret has reformed itself in so many different ways that it’s become a part of me. I lost, gained, lost again, and regained. I’ve had to stitch myself so many times.

I have fears that consume me and fears I never knew I had. And all the while, I’m trying to stay afloat, trying to find meaning in this life that I have no attachment to.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy writing. I enjoy creating. I enjoy art though not as much as I used to, growing up. I’m not out to self-harm. I’ve come to make peace with feeling less than most people because that’s something I had to learn after having felt so much before. I don’t need to confirm that I’m alive like everyone else. Rather, I know it so well; it’s now tiring.

In my journey of self-love, learning and unlearning, I’ve lost a few things along the way.

It’s to no one’s surprise that you lose things even when you don’t mean to. I’m not exactly sure about all that I’ve come to lose, but I definitely think that pieces of me are not what they used to be. I’m talking about the pieces I might have actually liked about myself.

And maybe this is part of the journey too…

But unlike 23-year-old me, this older version isn’t as interested in finding out. Maybe 17-year-old me was right all along– That the reason why I could never see life past 28 was that I just couldn’t see life.

What is the point of life?

What is the point of life when you can’t feel anything?

These days, I’ve been drowning myself in movies and tv shows to try to get emotions out of myself. Otherwise, I live out my life like a zombie or programmed AI. I haven’t seen the point of life in a long time, but I’ve continued because I know the other side to this coin. I lived it already, and I hated it. Do I hate where I am now? No.

I couldn’t say I do.

brown cafe caffeine close up
Photo by Pixabay on

There’s a lot to look forward to, but my heart is nowhere to be found.

I’ve accomplished quite a few things just this year. Past me would have been elated to see where I am today. 13-year-old me would be glad to see that the essay about her future she wrote in computer class was 1/3 fulfilled. And I guess I am happy to know that my past self would be happy to see what I have now. But it’s weird being happy for my past rather than my present self.

What is a dream? What is a wish?

I’m wondering about a lot of things these days– trying to figure out my next move when I get to actually moving.

Everything seems to be at a standstill as I wonder.

Leave a Reply

error: Content is protected !!