Editor’s Epilogue: Go girl, give us nothing!

I have never given 100% of myself to something. I’ve simply never been able to. 

When I was in third grade, I would yak a majority of the mornings,and any day that I was lucky enough to keep down my breakfast, I felt like I could at any moment. Multiple times, I found myself at urgent care because I couldn’t breathe at night. 

Any day I didn’t have to go to school was a blessing to me — which is so ridiculous considering I had friends and school came pretty naturally to me (at least it used to) — still, I remember being exhausted and unhappy before I hit double digits. 

Once middle school hit, I dreaded any time my friends would ask me to hang out because it meant I had to leave the comfort of my bed. This led to faking illness as often as I could without raising too much concern.

In high school, I would find myself having panic attacks in the middle of classes and missing weeks of school due to intense exhaustion as the weight of getting out of bed became too crushing. Everything around me felt like it hit rock bottom in my first semester of junior year, when I missed around six weeks of school and dropped all of my classes besides English and math. 

With my lack of motivation and constant prolonged absences, extracurriculars were not my priority. I’d like to blame my debilitating depressive episodes that destroyed any possibility of joining the fun extracurriculars my peers were in, but even then, was I even into those extracurriculars? Or was it just pressure to get into college and do what my friends were doing?

I’ve realized that I’ve never had a passion, which has led me to become an envious person. A part of me breaks everytime someone talks about how they’ve danced since they were five, painted since they were eight, or started playing the drums before they could talk. Then the spiral of self-loathing begins — hating myself for never pushing myself to do something. I don’t know what I like, what I’m good at or who I am. Everyone dreads the small talk “what do you like to do” question, but for me, it got to the point where I didn’t like anything. 

I do realize how melodramatic I sound writing this, (I blame Lorde), but it’s hard to not feel a deep regret for the, albeit short, life I have lived. Still, every time an older person reminds me that my youth is meant to be the best years of my life, that pain of regret hits me. 

Mentally, I’m in a much better place than I think I have ever been. I can’t remember the last time I couldn’t catch my breath, and I find myself in class every day, even when it’s not mandatory. While I do love to complain, every day I am thankful I can get out of bed. I guess life truly is a blessing or whatever other corny message is on the sign above the farmhouse sink of a freshly-renovated two-story suburban house. 

Currently, I’m working on forgiving myself. It’s a challenge to try and convince myself that my seemingly wasted years weren’t wasted. I needed that time to heal. 

There’s not much I could’ve done differently. There’s nothing I can do now to change the past. I quit piano and sports and haven’t touched a paintbrush since I quit art class. I probably will not pick any of those things up again.

However, here I am now, writing silly little articles every week and having fun doing it. I didn’t even want to be a journalism major — schools just required me to put a major, and I was told putting undeclared isn’t good. I never thought of picking up an editor role until I was asked to apply. Now, I get to spend my time reading some of the most incredible pieces of writing from a variety of students on campus. Even when the work feels overwhelming, there’s not a moment when I feel like I need to quit or that I can’t do it. 

While I will continue to provide melodramatic monologues and sighs about my life, journalism and Daily Trojan, it’s all just for goofs now. I’m happy. I look forward to hanging out with my friends. Maybe it’s too far to say I’m happy to get out of bed — the snooze button still gets hit to the very last minute, but always with the knowledge I will make it out of bed.  

I’m not yet at the point to say “go girl, give us everything,” but for the first time, it’s not nothing. 

“Editors’ Epilogue” is a rotating column featuring a new Daily Trojan editor in each installment and their personal experiences of living in what seems to be an irrepressible dumpster fire of a world.