19•20

 

I built my whole life around the idea that I wouldn’t make it to 20. Now I’m here, and I don’t know what to do.

I never really thought I’d get this far. Growing up, people told me I wouldn’t make it to 18. And if I somehow made it to 20, I’d be “lucky”. That always stuck with me. I didn’t even question it for the most part.I just accepted it as my fate and lived with it.

Now that I think about it, it’s actually wild to say that kind of thing to a kid. I mean I knew why they said it, it’s because I have sickle cell.

Whenever people find out, they go: “What? You have sickle cell? You don’t even look like it”.

Yeah. That’s the point. I didn’t want anyone to know. But whatever…let’s move on.

For those who don’t know what sickle cell is, it’s a disease that causes this deep, indescribable pain…like pain so bad that dying doesn’t seem like the worst option. I call it a “racist disease because it mainly affects Black people and some Asians, like in India.

So for most of my life, I didn’t think I’d be around long enough to dream big. No goals. No real ambition. I never saw a point in working hard or planning for the future when I felt like I wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy any of it. Exams? Relationships? Money? Talent? None of it really mattered.

When I first heard what sickle cell could do, I went into denial.

Like “that can’t be me, right?”

The universe wouldn’t let me suffer for 10+ years just to kill me off on a random Tuesday from a pain crisis or breathing problems.

Right?

One time I told my mom, “I WANT TO DIE.” She immediately told me to shut up and “rebuked it in the name of Jesus.” She said as long as I had faith and kept praying, I’d be fine.

Lol Okay. Sure.

For most of the time I just lived absurdly. You know…accepting that life is kind of absurd and pointless, but still choosing to live it anyway.

That mindset changed me. It made me super introverted. Like painfully introverted. To the point where I’ve even wondered if I might be autistic. I hate talking. I hate small talk. I hate confrontation. I hate “people”, sometimes.

It wasn’t any better in school. One time, a classmate said I had a “health disorder.” I didn’t say anything in the moment. I just went home and told my mom. The next day, she came to school and told the teacher what happened. She asked, “Why would he say my son has a health disorder!”

And honestly? Like… Mom? That’s what it is. You just don’t want to say it out loud.

Anyway, the teacher apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again. But then they turned to me and asked, “Why didn’t you speak up? Why didn’t you tell us instead of going home?”

Like bro… do you even know your own student? I was terrified. I don’t talk. I freeze. I shrink. I just… shut down.

And don’t even get me started on talking to girls. That’s a whole other L.

But now here I am. About to turn 20. I’ve finally accepted that I’m not dying…at least not yet. And now I’m stuck asking myself: What the fuck do I do now?

Do I start believing in God again?

Pick up a new hobby?

I already have too many.

I don’t know. For so long, I prepared for death.

Now I have to figure out how to actually live.

Shit ><