Sasha Brudlo

Sometimes I forget I’m half an orphan.

Sometimes it’ll hit me in the middle of the day. I’ll remember that tomorrow isn’t promised and time is something you can’t get back and I’ll wonder what I’m doing working part-time at a pub in a city I kind-of-pretty-much hate.

Or I’ll remember how it feels to be fourteen listening to Tim McGraw on the way to the hospital and realizing so little actually matters. How in the pain it was so easy to see what actually does.

Sometimes I’ll forget it’s a miracle to even be alive, walking around, seeing, hearing, smelling the world. That creating something from nothing is more extraordinary than magic, even if no one ever reads it.

It’s like getting over a bad flu and promising god you’ll never take your body for granted again. It’s like coming out of a depressive episode and promising yourself you’ll start waking up early and seizing the day. It’s like being shocked back to life.

Sometimes it’ll sneak up on me when I’m lonely. I’ll remember most people still have both parents and that makes me special in the way having a rare disease makes you special and I’ll hate my story and I’ll swear I’m never telling another soul as long as I live.

Then I’ll remember how it feels to hear someone else’s tragedy, how it’s like being six and meeting someone with the same favorite animal as you, how the world doesn’t seem so big and scary.

When it’s all too easy to forget, these are the things I will myself to remember:

Life can end at any moment. There might not be more time—to start taking better care of yourself, to start writing your novel, to start acting like you’re alive. Do it now.

There will never be enough time. Not when you love someone. You will be given the choice between more time and more of everything else, day after day. Choose time.

Nobody’s approval will be of comfort to you in the hospital, at the funeral, or any time thereafter. Nobody’s disapproval will matter. Be true to yourself.

Stop and smell the roses and look at the apple blossoms and listen to the woodpeckers and remember that you are here. Alive. None of it will last forever. Laugh too loud and dream too big and be excited about as many things as possible.

Terrible things happen. Your life is not uniquely tragic. There are people out there who will understand your pain. There are others who feel alone, too.
Tell your story.