Content warning: This article contains mentions of death, suicide and mental illness.

I can safely say that I’ve had more than enough tragedies for a lifetime. Despite that, somehow, I’m still here. I survived. And it took a village. I couldn’t have done it without crashing my friends’ places uninvited, having them listen to me go on and on until there were no more words left to say. How can I put into words the grief I’m still trying to navigate?

Of all the unfortunate events that took place in my life, the one common factor was me. But thank god my friends embraced me with open arms. Thank god they accepted me for what I am, or what I thought I was: the problem.

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I don’t think I would have been okay if it wasn’t for my friends. Not good, not great — just “okay.” Because isn’t that all we can really ask for? Countless days spent in my room — spent in a never-ending nightmare — briefly interrupted by knocks on my door or calls from friends making sure I ate. Making sure I showered. Making sure I did the bare minimum I needed to do to survive. 

Because that’s what mattered at the time: It’s not that I didn’t want to live, it’s that I didn’t know how to live like that anymore. But thank god they were there to pull me out of my slumber — loosely tethering me to reality. They were there until I learned how to get back up (quite literally as I couldn’t get out of bed) on my own again.

Call me an escapist, but I just can’t get out of bed. I find myself spending all my time sleeping, dreaming, escaping. Because it is only in my dreams that the world begins to feel somewhat right. Because in my dreams, I’m not alone. I can spend as much time as I want with the people I love, do all the things I wish I could do. In my dreams, I can do the impossible. So I did the impossible. Because being a “functional” human being was seemingly impossible.

My dreams were far from dreamy. If anything, I found myself stuck in never-ending nightmares.  But, at least in my nightmares, I didn’t have anything “real” to lose. I saw him die countless times in my head. I saw — Stop. Go back. I don’t want to see it happen again — nothing was set in stone. Whatever happened, I could make unhappen. I could try again and again. So I would: time and time again, I would save him, save myself, save the world. Make it all right again. Not alright, but all right. How lovely would it be if everything in the world could be right?

But life doesn’t work that way. We can’t undo the things we’ve done — but we sure as hell can try. We can’t go back and do things differently. I could think about the what-ifs all I wanted, but the fact is that life goes on — with or without you — and I’m still learning to keep up. 

How many unforgettable memories with friends and family were lost because I was too busy dreaming my life away? I spent so much time running, I no longer knew what it was I was running from. Perhaps I was running from the future: “Where do you see yourself in five years?” I don’t. Hell, I can’t even see myself in five minutes, because after all I’ve been through, the future is terrifying. The future can hurt me. And I’m getting tired of all the hurt.

I learned that the only way for me to truly live again is to live in the present. To live in the “now.” I’m not going to sugarcoat it: some days, I find myself unable to get out of bed. I find myself stuck in my head, thinking too much about the past, finding pockets of comfort in bittersweet memories that I could hide in. I find myself thinking too much about the future — thinking of all the different possibilities, all the different interactions and conversations not yet had. 

Sentience is a prison. I could find myself searching for answers in the past or future forever. Maybe I need to stop thinking and just do what feels right. The only real answer is now because what’s real is now. And what’s real is that I’m still alive. Despite everything, I’m still alive.

Somehow, I’m still okay. So I know you’ll be okay too. Because life goes on, with or without us, and I’d like it to go on with you. This lesson’s a long one. Let’s learn it together.

Man Truong is a senior writing about his reflections on life. He makes sense of a world full of different beliefs and philosophies in his column, “Lessons Learned,” which runs every other Monday.