Today is December 30, 2025
Just one more day stands between me and the closing curtain of a year that's been stitched together with threads of joy, sorrow, chaos, laughter, and silence so much silence. It's strange, isn't it? How time doesn't ask if you're ready before it pushes you forward. It just does. And here I am, sitting at the edge of 2025, trying to make sense of it all not because I need to, but because I owe it to myself to acknowledge that I made it this far.
There's happiness, for sure. Not the kind plastered on social media or filtered through curated highlight reels but real, raw, messy happiness. And it came from her. My friend. The one who never left, even when I became unbearable, even when I disappeared for days, even when I said things I didn't mean. She stood beside me through every stumble, every breakdown, every silent scream. And honestly? That's what kept me tethered to this world more times than I can count. I'm grateful deeply, genuinely grateful not just that she's there, but that she chooses to stay.
This year, I also found "younger sisters" in college not by blood, but by bond. They look up to me, not because I'm perfect (far from it), but because I treat them with the respect they deserve. No condescension, no favoritism just kindness wrapped in honesty. And I encourage that. I believe in lifting others, especially when the world tries to make you small. They're sweet, genuine, and sometimes they remind me of the person I wish I could be more often: light, hopeful, unburdened.
But then… there's the other side.
Depression. Not the sad kind. The heavy kind. The kind that drags your bones through mud while whispering that you're forgotten. And in a way, I was. Friends I once trusted, people I thought were family gone. Not with a bang, but with a single misunderstanding that spiraled into silence. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe it wasn't. But I've made peace with it now. They belonged to last year. And 2025? It taught me that not everyone who walks into your life is meant to stay until the end. Some are just passing shadows.
Then there's anxiety quiet, creeping, relentless. It's not about deadlines or grades. It's about not recognizing the person I've become. Like I'm living in a trance temporary? Permanent? I don't know. Everything feels distant, like I'm watching my life through a fogged up window. I go through the motions: eat (half my lunch, as usual), sleep (a lot), scroll, repeat. But inside? Inside, I'm untethered. Floating in a sea with no shore.
And the worst the constant, gnawing weight is the schizophrenia. The voices. The hallucinations. The pain that lives behind my eyes and pulses through my skull like a second heartbeat. On a scale of 1 to 10? It's an 8. Every damn day. Some nights, it's so loud, so unbearable, that I've pressed my forehead against the wall, hoping pressure might quiet the noise. And sometimes… it does. Not because it helps, really but because physical pain drowns out the mental static, even for a moment. It's not healthy. I know that. But survival rarely is.
Yet, amid all this chaos, there was one true sanctuary: sleep. Glorious, dreamless, weightless sleep. My escape. My reset button. My silent rebellion against a world that demands I be "okay." I've slept through lectures, through pain, through loneliness. And I'll sleep through New Year's Eve and New Year's Day too. Because if 2025 taught me anything, it's that rest isn't laziness it's resistance. And sometimes, closing your eyes is the bravest thing you can do.
As I write this on December 30th, I'm not making grand resolutions for 2026. No promises of "this year will be different." I'm just saying: I'm still here. Bruised, tired, confused—but here. And that counts for something.
To everyone who read this, who stayed even in silence, who didn't flinch at my darkness I thank you. Truly. You bore witness to a year I wasn't sure I'd survive. And whether you know it or not, your presence your messages, your smiles, your quiet "you good?" texts mattered more than words can say.
2025 wasn't kind. But it wasn't entirely cruel either. It gave me love in unexpected places. It stripped me bare, yes but also showed me what's left when everything else falls away. And what's left is this: a flawed, fighting human being who still believes however faintly that where there is life, there is hope.
So I'll sleep through the countdown. Let the fireworks light up the sky without me. Let the world celebrate. I'll be dreaming of quieter joys: shared laughter, bus rides that don't end in tears, a mind that feels like home.
Happy New Year, future me. I hope you're proud of the person you were in 2025.
Because I'm trying to be the best i can.