Days come and go in our lives

I woke up as usual before six in the morning. Jumped out of bed, showered, and had breakfast. While eating my cereal, I went through the schedule for the day’s lectures. If I skipped one on machine learning, I could make it to another one I was studying in parallel. At the pace I was studying, I would graduate in record time. Before leaving my student apartment, I sent a few texts to some potential dates, chose clothes for the day, and picked music that suited the mood. The night before, I had listened to a new album. I felt the rhythm pulsing in my chest and how the joy seemed to take flight. I wanted to experience everything! If you’ve heard about cows being let out for the first time in spring, you’ll get the idea. The night before, I went to bed after midnight, fantasizing about future adventures and successes. I wanted to see the savannah in Africa. I wanted to taste everything in the local grocery store. Experience love. Express my talent. Just in the last few months, I had been to more concerts than ever before.

The shoes were a bit tight, but it didn’t matter because they were exactly the style of canvas shoes from England I had been looking for. And besides, life itself felt tight somehow—like I wanted more than I could fit into it.

For some time now, I had been getting up early in the morning and going for a run in the forest nearby. It was often still dark, but by the time I reached the hill in the middle, I could see the sunrise. It was cold, and I was wearing nothing more than an old military surplus poplin suit. But I didn’t care about the cold because it was just me, the sunrise, and thoughts of the day’s adventures. Because I was finally healthy, free from suffering, and ready to face the world. Or... was it the world that wanted to meet me?

I felt like I had something special that others liked. Wasn’t I better than most people? I made more friends, no longer needed the same level of support from my parents. I told them about what I was doing and planning. This summer, I’m going to Africa. Then to a festival. Money wasn’t an issue, nor was I worried about whether my illness might flare up again.

“Take it easy,” said Mom. “You’re not quite yourself. Is everything alright?”

YES! I had probably never felt better. My studies were going well—or rather, excellently. I was working out, meeting friends, going on dates and attending university parties. It felt urgent to make up for the past years of dreary Novembers.

Months had passed. I ate lunch with classmates before the afternoon lectures. The conversations continued, but I was somewhere else. My gaze fixed on the horizon, not focused on anything in particular. The food didn’t taste like much. Before, it felt as if I was always too early for the bus and had to wait impatiently. Now it was always gone, and it was the last departure. Everyone had gone home, leaving me alone. But it was my own fault. Why would anyone want to take care of an old, broken single glove?

If I used to feel eager to tackle the day, now I wanted it to end so I could lie down and sleep again. Preferably, I’d sleep through the whole day and life itself. How had it come to this? Thoughts churned in my head. Sure, I’d felt down before graduation, maybe even longer than that. Maybe this was just how my life was and would always be—a dark swamp I couldn’t escape.

My life was a problem I couldn’t solve. Often, it felt like something was pressing down on my chest, and when I took the bus, I felt so restless it was like an itch beneath my sternum, as though there wasn’t enough air. Thud-thud, thud-thud. My heart pounded so hard it vibrated. Often, I thought about how I could escape, flee from all the suffering. I’d walk over a bridge and look down over the railing. I Googled for solutions. At the same time, I was scared. So scared of hurting others and physically harming myself.

So the twilight turned into night, and I couldn’t handle it any longer. But there were people around me—strangers and loved ones—who extended a hand and took mine in theirs. Even if I didn’t think I deserved help, others didn’t agree.

It was spring, and the nights grew shorter with each passing day. When I most feared the darkness, I saw a light in the distance. Dawn came, and with it, the birdsong that belongs to spring.

Maybe I can endure one more day? One step at a time, one foot in front of the other, and I move forward.

This is a life too, and it must be lived.