Carry On
Epilogue
Sometimes in life you wonder how you got here. You wonder what fucked up chain events could lead you to such a situation. Why was I here? Why was I laying in a hospital bed with a headache the size of a galaxy? Why did I wake up in such a strange place with nothing but crying loved ones surrounding me?
I suppose it could have been the bitter divorce between my parents.
I suppose it could have been my parents' absences in my childhood.
Maybe it was the way my parents argued for the first ten years of my life. Or it could very well have been the lack of love I felt from growing up in such a materialistic and static world. It could have been the pressure I had to make my father proud. Or it could have been typical teenage angst from typical high school drama.
To be honest, I don't think it was any of those things. I'm not a believer. I don't go to church and I don't pray. I don't believe in some holy spirt to guide me home towards the heavenly Father. But I do believe that somewhere out there, an unexplainable force chose me. I was chosen to learn something. I was chosen to learn that no matter what life throws us, there is always a way out. There will always be a sun to rise in the morning. Some mornings will be foggy, and you won't even see the sun, but that doesn't mean the fog won't clear. Eventually, it'll come back. I learned that even though I believed that my father didn't love me, that I couldn't make him proud, and that I was forever stuck to be unhappy with my life... I was important. I was loved. I believe that I was chosen to learn a lesson not many people have the opportunity to learn.
Most importantly, though, I was chosen to live.
In the end, I wrote a story. I wrote a story inspired by my childhood. I wrote a story in a parallel universe where my father is a rockstar and my mother is a fashion designer. In reality, my father is an engineer for a very popular space program. My mother is a real estate agent and I have several siblings that all have promise to be successful, even at their young age. They were right when they said I grew up better than most.
For a long time I debated the ending of this story. I debated a lot of different things, but one thing constantly tore at me. Life or death. It wasn't until I visited the pier at Huntington again, after being away so long, that I realized what this was about. As I stared out into the vast ocean that almost claimed my life, everything made sense. This story wasn't about me wanting to die, or wanting to just fall asleep and never wake up. It wasn't about my haunting obsession with death and the mystery of what was on the other side. This story is about life. To go the other direction would have been to betray everything I've learned in the past few years.
I know I'm just some twenty-something year old living in south Orange County. I'm a regular girl who likes shopping and Starbucks. To me, I'm nothing special, but my story is. And this story wasn't about trying to get as many readers as possible, or even to entertain. This story was about healing myself through another outlet that I couldn't describe. An outlet in which no one else knew about. Hence the one and only reason why I remain anonymous.
So it is with my entire heart and soul that I thank you. I thank all of you who have read this, because you had a part in helping me heal. Thank you to every person who commented and subscribed. Thank you to the handfuls of kids who have messaged me, telling me that this story meant something to them. I learned that I wasn't the only one healing. And I feel like I owe all of you a debt I will probably never be able to pay. Just know that I am forever grateful that you all took this journey with me. Thank you for reading every word, even if it was painful sometimes.
"Somehow we still manage to carry on."
Sincerely,
Mockingbird;;
I suppose it could have been the bitter divorce between my parents.
I suppose it could have been my parents' absences in my childhood.
Maybe it was the way my parents argued for the first ten years of my life. Or it could very well have been the lack of love I felt from growing up in such a materialistic and static world. It could have been the pressure I had to make my father proud. Or it could have been typical teenage angst from typical high school drama.
To be honest, I don't think it was any of those things. I'm not a believer. I don't go to church and I don't pray. I don't believe in some holy spirt to guide me home towards the heavenly Father. But I do believe that somewhere out there, an unexplainable force chose me. I was chosen to learn something. I was chosen to learn that no matter what life throws us, there is always a way out. There will always be a sun to rise in the morning. Some mornings will be foggy, and you won't even see the sun, but that doesn't mean the fog won't clear. Eventually, it'll come back. I learned that even though I believed that my father didn't love me, that I couldn't make him proud, and that I was forever stuck to be unhappy with my life... I was important. I was loved. I believe that I was chosen to learn a lesson not many people have the opportunity to learn.
Most importantly, though, I was chosen to live.
In the end, I wrote a story. I wrote a story inspired by my childhood. I wrote a story in a parallel universe where my father is a rockstar and my mother is a fashion designer. In reality, my father is an engineer for a very popular space program. My mother is a real estate agent and I have several siblings that all have promise to be successful, even at their young age. They were right when they said I grew up better than most.
For a long time I debated the ending of this story. I debated a lot of different things, but one thing constantly tore at me. Life or death. It wasn't until I visited the pier at Huntington again, after being away so long, that I realized what this was about. As I stared out into the vast ocean that almost claimed my life, everything made sense. This story wasn't about me wanting to die, or wanting to just fall asleep and never wake up. It wasn't about my haunting obsession with death and the mystery of what was on the other side. This story is about life. To go the other direction would have been to betray everything I've learned in the past few years.
I know I'm just some twenty-something year old living in south Orange County. I'm a regular girl who likes shopping and Starbucks. To me, I'm nothing special, but my story is. And this story wasn't about trying to get as many readers as possible, or even to entertain. This story was about healing myself through another outlet that I couldn't describe. An outlet in which no one else knew about. Hence the one and only reason why I remain anonymous.
So it is with my entire heart and soul that I thank you. I thank all of you who have read this, because you had a part in helping me heal. Thank you to every person who commented and subscribed. Thank you to the handfuls of kids who have messaged me, telling me that this story meant something to them. I learned that I wasn't the only one healing. And I feel like I owe all of you a debt I will probably never be able to pay. Just know that I am forever grateful that you all took this journey with me. Thank you for reading every word, even if it was painful sometimes.
"Somehow we still manage to carry on."
Sincerely,
Mockingbird;;