I always find it a bit strange when people say that they are “proud of me” for going through what I’m going through. I know they are trying to be supportive, but it’s a bit odd, isn’t it? I mean, what else is one supposed to do?  Just give up on life, succumb to the illness? I’m just trying to live my life — why does that merit so much shock and awe? 

Maybe I’m just being too literal for my own good here and not taking the sentiments at face value. I know it’s just meant to be supportive, but it’s such a bizarre thing to me. Of course I’m going to fight on — I’m not finished here yet. In fact, I’ve hardly even gotten started. 

This is a very unwelcome and unwarranted interruption point. But I’ll be damned if it stops me from doing the things I’ve been putting on hold for years already. Next year, when this mess is over (and it WILL be over), I’m going on all the trips I put aside to finish college and to work, I’m going to carpentry school so I can build my own awesome furniture, I’m going to learn Armenian, fluently, and go visit the Motherland. 

Hell, I might even skip out on my job for something else that doesn’t make me so miserable. For years, I’ve been telling myself that I need to accomplish x, y, and z before I can move on to the things I really want to do. I am starting to think otherwise. I don’t feel like wasting my life on things that mean nothing to me, or that don’t bring me joy. Maybe that’s selfish, but it’s about time I did something for myself, for once. I don’t want to chase the dreams of others anymore. It’s my life. And it’s high time for me to shape it and mold it to my will. 

No looking back, no regrets, only forward motion. Living for me, living for now.