Fawzia and the heart transplant: 10 years later

Today is my 10th heart transplant anniversary. I wanted to make grand plans for myself this year considering it's a big milestone, but it turns out that big plans aren't really my thing. Too much effort and energy is required and I am incredibly lazy. 

Ten years ago, when I was sixteen, I was successfully transplanted with a healthy donor heart at Johns Hopkins. Truthfully, I never envisioned my life turning out the way it has. Honestly, I didn't even know if I was going to make it to another year because of what happened last year in December. That's the thing about being a transplant recipient, there is a lot of uncertainty and sometimes really harsh reminders of your own mortality.  Last I knew, things had improved since then, but it's been several months since I've been seen and I've had a rather stressful past several months where I've not taken great care of myself. I can only hope that I haven't done too much damage. I'm terrible at establishing a routine for myself, but it's something that I need to do yet again and try my best to maintain. 

Oddly enough, for such a big transplant milestone, I don't have much to say. I wonder if I've said it all already in years past and that's why I can't quite find any words to express myself today. Today is special and should feel special, but somehow I'm not sure that it is. Apparently, this is the first time that my transplant anniversary has fallen on a Wednesday. That's got to count for something, right? 

I think I'm just going to ramble and see where it goes. 

It's an understatement to say that life after a transplant is challenging. For me, so much of the challenge is in knowing how much of a cost burden there is on my family (and to a lesser degree of guilt, on the healthcare system). Medication is not cheap. Procedures are not cheap.  Healthcare often feels like a luxury and not a basic need based on just how heavy the expense can be and truly is. The other thing I still struggle with is reconciling my mental health with transplant. Transplant is a gift, not a cure. The typical response to receiving a gift is gratitude. And I am grateful, but I don't always exist in a place where I express that gratitude. But I always acknowledge in my darkest days, when I am not okay at all, that my anchor to this world is my donor's gift (and her family's decision). If nothing else, I am grounded by survivor's guilt. 

Right now, I'm in a state of transition in life. Just beginning to get my bearings, which is a painful and awkward experience to go through. I have wanted so badly to give up many days, but I know that I need to give myself time. With time comes experience and hopefully a sort of firmness and air of confidence in the decisions that I will make. But for right now, I have to remind myself that I am not alone and that it's okay to ask for help when I am unsure. 

I used to always believe that I hadn't grown as a person and I still hold that belief, especially when it comes to "doing adult things" like having a 401k, a significant other, buying/owning a house, etc. I've always felt behind in life compared to my peers, like somehow I missed the boat to success or happiness. Although my peers and I are at entirely different points in our lives, in recent weeks and months, I've realized that I'm not the only one hurting. I'm not the only one going through change that feels painful and awkward. I'm not the only one doubting myself. But I might be the only one not cheering for me. Someday, I'm going to cheer for me like others do and really mean it. 

Most of that isn't coherent and doesn't have much to do with transplant, but happy 10 years to me nonetheless. Eternally thankful to my donor and her family, my family, my friends that I've made along the way, and God. 

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Today is a good day to live.

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"Don't take your organs with you to heaven, heaven knows we need them here." Visit donatelife.net to register to be an organ, eye, and tissue donor. 

"they're your artery thieves"

This is my annual heart transplant post, almost 2 months late. The way that this is going to read is entirely different from what I had initially wanted to say back in October, but things change and we get hit with unpleasant surprises and shocks. I have no good way of segueing into what I'm going to say/talk about in this post, but know that I've debated a lot about whether or not to continue sharing so much of myself. 

On October 20th, it was my ninth heart transplant anniversary. Exciting, right? Except that this year, the day was more or less just like any other day of the year. That's not meant to sound accusatory. It was still special, but just a little less so because that's how this year has been. Does that make sense? I'm not sure it does, but what I mean is that I'm grateful for all of the love and for any thoughtful gifts I received this year, but the day didn't feel as special as it normally does. 

This year has been strange and difficult in a lot of ways. For me, the hardship has come as the curtains of this year begin to close. I (almost) always have some kind of procedure and routine tests done every year in December. I received some crushing news this year in the procedure room surrounded by very kind and reassuring health care professionals. I've never been so in awe of physicians and how seamlessly they deliver results to patients until recently, until the patient was me and I couldn't stop crying. I hate the number 18 now. And the number 9 too. Maybe that's a bit dramatic, but it's where my mind was 12 days ago. 

I had my annual clinic appointment recently. All of the imaging was apparently fine, except for what they found on my left heart cath. A 75% narrowing of the left anterior descending artery (the widow maker). When you hear that for the first time and subsequently every time after, it doesn't feel good. Simply put, I freaked out. I thought it was my fault and probably always will. I don't even know if it is my fault or not, but I guess placing blame here doesn't matter. I felt my world crashing down. I felt guilty for everything. 

More officially, what I have is apparently referred to as cardiac allograft vasculopathy (CAV), which from what I understand is the transplant version of coronary artery disease (CAD). The way it's appeared though doesn't seem to meet the criteria of CAV to me, seems more like a CAD picture, but I'm almost not an expert so what do I know? Overall, not great at all, especially at 25. Bleak and depressing to be honest with you. I was ready to cry my eyes out at that appointment, but that didn't happen because my cardiologist didn't seem worried. That doesn't mean that he's not concerned at all. I thought it was a death sentence (because in a way, it kind of still is), but he just explained step wise what we were going to do to keep it from progressing. The silver lining in all of this is that I'm not symptomatic (but also not necessarily expected to be) and that it was found early (something two of my brothers who are physicians reminded me of). It's manageable. 

But still I wonder if it's something that I did or didn't do that caused this. My brother who is a cardiologist says that I shouldn't be so hard on myself, that there are a lot of factors that are out of my control. I vaguely remember hearing my cardiologist say something about how we don't know the genetics of the donor heart, but I'm not sure I understand what that has to do with it. But then I also remember that this heart, although it has been mine for over nine years now, it belonged to someone else first.

So, that's my story. I'll be honest - I haven't made drastic changes in my life really since hearing the news other than that I'm really determined to do my best to stay away from fast food and most processed junk (with the exception of some dairy, honey, crackers, and bread right now) and working up my nerve to get back into establishing a daily exercise routine. It's nice to be living at home because meals are freshly cooked and I know it's made with love and care without all of the excess salt, fat, oil, and sugar. No more foodie meetups for the foreseeable future, but do meet me for a walk somewhere, anywhere. It feels good to feel the ground beneath my feet. 

I thought it would feel insulting or embarrassing to receive that nine year celebratory certificate at my appointment, but it didn't. Nine years is a long time. I just wish it didn't feel like an ending. 

I am will be okay. 

I am still here. 

And will continue to be here for many more years to come, in'sha'Allah (God willing). 

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A transplant is not a cure, but it makes a world of difference for the recipient. Visit donatelife.net to register to be an organ, eye, and tissue donor. 

While you're at it, visit bethematch.org and join the registry. My medical history disqualifies me from ever being a donor, but maybe yours doesn't. 

Save lives, be a donor. 

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For the record, I blame myself

It went on and on, I let me lose

All the best, I made it through

It went on and on and on without you

One and on and on and on

["Birdcage" by Novo Amor]

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The title of this post is taken from a song called "Silvery" by Novo Amor.

When there is an organ donor, life springs from death

Today marks 8 years since I was successfully transplanted with a healthy heart at Johns Hopkins Hospital. It’s astounding how much time has passed and how quickly time ends up passing. I normally begin writing this blog post the day before, but for some reason I fell asleep early last night and woke up before 2am today so here I am writing some of it now... and here I am at almost 9 in the morning finishing it up. 

I always like to take time to reflect on what has happened to me since that day, whether good or bad. There’s been a lot of both over the past 8 years. Let’s try starting with the good since that’s what I struggle the most with. This summer I went to the UK and met some of my second cousins. It was a refreshing experience. I played mini golf for the first time while I was there and went to see the new Aladdin movie with Aminah. I got to see most of the places where my father used to live while he was in school and doing his post-doc research. When we got back to America, a few of my cousins and I went to this really cute tea shop in Brooklyn. I went to Houston, Texas, for a conference and survived the heat. Claire and I enjoyed many foodie outings and went to the farmer’s market in Leesburg a few times. Shameless plug: we have a shared Instagram now called clawzia_prn and everyone should totally follow us. I survived my hospital rotation and actually really enjoyed it. I’m in my third year of pharmacy school, taking on absolutely more than I probably should, but am somehow still standing upright. I've had many fun evenings with friends, watching movies, talking, and playing games. 

I’m always hyper aware that I probably sound like the most ungrateful person in the world when it comes to talking about my transplant because I think people perceive that I focus on all of the negative things that have happened. But I am grateful. I am grateful. Another year has passed. I’ve met new people, strengthened old friendships. I’m surviving pharmacy school. I’ve been to places I had only ever dreamt of going to. I’ve been on some nice walks. I’ve had many cups of chai. I’ve been on lots of foodie adventures. I’ve taken steps towards taking care of myself mentally and emotionally, something that needed to be done several years ago, but better late than never.

The bad things that come as a result of transplant or after transplant for me still haven’t really changed from years past. My transplant is not a cure. I live with a handful of other conditions in addition to transplant. I never know what exactly is causing the things that are happening to me and no one else knows either. It could be the stress, it could be the meds, it could just be that I’m unlucky in some regards. But I have a much better quality of life now than I did before my transplant.

Sometimes I think about what it would be like if my classmates had to write up a SOAP note on me. It almost wants to make me laugh because of how ridiculously complicated it would be for them, but I’d be interested in knowing what interventions they would want to make on my behalf. I always used to think that I was so complex of a patient that I could qualify being treated by House, but then I realized there’s nothing that he would find intriguing about me. And House only takes cases that are interesting, but I digress.

Sometimes it feels strange to still be here because I never once pictured being here in this moment, in this space, in this time. I never really pictured living long enough to make it through high school if I’m being honest. I look to the future a lot, I try to imagine it, but I don’t usually find myself there. I think it’s because I don’t expect to be there and that’s a reality for me. It doesn’t mean that I don’t hope to be there, but it’s more like me recognizing how precious the time I have is.

I contacted someone recently to find out if my donor family ever received my letter that I wrote when I was in college. They did. But I guess they didn’t know what to say or maybe they didn’t want to say anything. I don’t blame them though. Finding out that they got my letter and not hearing from them has been one of the hardest things to deal with and I haven’t really dealt with it. I’m sad about it, but there’s not much else I can do besides write again and see what happens. Maybe the time just wasn’t right for them, maybe it will never be right. Grief is a non-linear process after all. I don’t expect it to be any easier on them than it is for me after 8 years because it’s still not any easier on me even now.

Every year, I find myself missing her even though I never knew her. When things go wrong, I think about her and try to remind myself that I’m here for a reason. It doesn’t really help, I usually just end up crying more. I hope I get to meet her family one day so that I can tell them thank you in person and give them the biggest hugs. And if by some chance I'm not able to meet them, I hope they know how much their decision 8 years ago means to me. 

I've run out of things to say now. I just hope this post doesn't come across as sounding insincere because I am grateful for this second shot at life. I've been able to do so much, see so much, experience so much. I guess one thing that surprises me as I look back is that the way they decide who gets an organ is based on a bunch of criteria, one of them being how sick you are. I remember what it felt like to be that sick, to have made it to the top of the transplant list, and it's not a place I want to find myself again because it's scary and life is full of no guarantees. I was just really fortunate. Anyway, that was just something that popped into my head just now. 

I owe the biggest thanks to God, my donor family, my own family, and every medical personnel involved in my care until now. Thank you to the friends who have stayed by my side and to those friends who joined later on but have felt like they've been there from the start. Thank you to everyone who continues to be on this journey known as life with me.

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"Without the organ donor, there is no story, no hope, no transplant. But when there is an organ donor, life springs from death, sorrow turns to hope and terrible loss becomes a gift."

Please visit donatelife.org to become an organ donor today. 

Glassy-Eyed

I'm tired, but it's worse than usual, I think. I'd rather stay in bed under the covers than wake up and meet the day. I'm in one of those moods that I used to fall into when I was in undergrad. I thought I would feel better with October being over, but November feels just as heavy. I feel drained, I feel empty. I feel like there's too much and too little all at once. I feel undone, I feel lost.

Sometimes I feel like I don't even know where I am, even though I am fully aware of where I am in the back of my mind. I don't physically or mentally feel present today and I don't expect to be present tomorrow. Everyone is here one second and gone the next. I can feel the people I care about growing out of me, I can see their disappointment in my lack of growth. We all move on at some point, right? I feel stuck, I feel alone.

I keep contemplating what it means to be enough, to do enough. I come up with the same answer every time and I wonder if that will ever change. I already know that I don't do enough, I've never done enough. I always wanted to make a difference in the world. I always wanted to have a lasting impact on the people around me, but I've never been able to influence anyone. Sometimes I wonder if people even see me or if they even know my name. Sometimes I wonder if I'm even real. I feel unseen, I feel unheard.

I don't know how to be strong like everyone else because I've always been weak. I don't know if I'm okay, but I'm here. I don't know much of anything these days.

I'm tired.

The One Where Fawzia Celebrates 7 Years Post Heart Transplant

It's been a hell of a week, It's been a hell of an October. Despite all of the struggles I've faced so far this month and my constant complaining and feelings of being overwhelmed, there's still a lot to be happy about. This year is special, I suppose, because it's my seventh heartiversary. Seven years since I was successfully transplanted with a healthy donor heart at Johns Hopkins Hospital. Seven years.

When October comes around, I usually spend time thinking about her. Honestly, this year though, I've probably only thought of her a few days this month. I'm still eternally grateful for her and her family. It's been years since I sent my letter to say thank you, but I suspect that it didn't get to where it was supposed to go. Maybe I never even sent it like I thought I did. It's always sort of bummed me out that I haven't found them yet. I remember years ago wanting to meet her family. I would have a better sense of completeness and maybe her family would have more closure, maybe they've already got closure though. I don't know. I'm going to try again to reach out to them. I want them to know how much I treasure this second chance at life that she gave to me. I still hold onto this hope that I will meet her family someday. It would mean so much to me, it would mean everything.

A lot has happened in the past seven years. I don't know if I ever expected to still be here. Statistics are interesting, you know. I think they say that the survival rate of 1 year for heart transplant recipient is something like 80%. Obviously that percentage goes down year after year. I plan on breaking the record and being the heart transplant recipient that lives the longest, that's my goal anyway. I think it's a good goal to aim for. I've never been one for statistics though, not seven years ago and not now. People are so much more complex than that and to reduce us down to numbers feels like a disservice. I joked with BVT that I was gonna live forever, I've gotta prove those statistics wrong.

Anyway, a lot really has happened in the past seven years. I graduated high school on time. I finished college with a double major in biology and chemistry. I got my driver's license at 21. I got accepted into pharmacy school and survived my P1 year. And just like that, I'm a P2. It's surreal when I think about it. I've changed too, in small ways. Years ago, I used to not be so open about my transplant. I guess I had good reason for keeping quiet. It's not easy to disclose trauma, and what I went through is something I would never wish upon anyone. I remember being 16 and feeling so hopeless that I wanted to let go, I wanted it to end. I thought I was going to die anyway. I think back to those days and it's enough to make me cry. In the past seven years, I've met so many people that I've come to love and couldn't imagine life without. And I would never have met any of them if I had died on the table seven years ago. To my point though, I've become comfortable with my transplant and sharing my experience with the people around me. I have a habit of springing it onto professors, but hey what's a girl to do when she's in the cardio module and things feel so relevant. It wasn't like I was going to keep quiet forever, that's not me. I think it ends up surprising a lot of people when I tell them.

Sometimes, it's hard for me to acknowledge that what I went through was traumatic because to me it doesn't fit the mold of what people traditionally think of trauma to be. I was reminded by BVT that undergoing a transplant is indeed a traumatic experience. I often forget that it is, but I think it's just because I've forgotten so much of what happened to me in the before time and shortly thereafter. The brain is funny like that. I wish I remembered more, but I think I remember all of the big points. I remember the day I was told that there was a heart for me, I remember saying goodbye to my family the next morning and crying. I mean, maybe it wasn't that we were saying goodbye, but no one knew for sure that I was going to live. So many things could have gone wrong. I carry that with me. I carry that constant worry that someday something is going to go so severely wrong that there won't be any chance or hope for recovery or survival. Every lab test I go for, I wonder if this is the one that's going to lead me into a diagnosis of diabetes or if this is the one that is going to show that my kidneys have finally given up on me. Every time my throat feels funny or I have a GI issue, I have to wonder if my heart is failing. Every biopsy I've had, I would secretly worry about too. I always wondered if they were going to find me rejecting my heart. It's happened once several years ago, but it was shortly after transplantation so it wasn't a huge surprise, I guess. I live with this worry everyday, but am fortunate enough that I don't usually consciously think about it.

The thing that people don't understand about transplants the most is that it's not a cure. I live a much better life now, of course, but it's not a cure. It never was and it never will be. I have at least three complications that are potentially due to transplant. Three more conditions that I live with on top of being a transplant recipient, three more than I wanted. I remember the days when I took 20+ pills in a day, I remember the days when I was so happy to find that I only had a handful to take. Nowadays, I probably take somewhere around 12 pills. It's not great, but it's a small price to pay if I can be alive and upright and well. Maybe at some point in my lifetime, I can have a heart grown from my own cells. Maybe I won't always need the pills. But until that day, I'll be adherent as I have always been.

I'm taking a stand for myself at last. This upcoming week on 10/25, I'm opening up to people who don't know anything about me. I'm letting myself be vulnerable so that they can learn, so that they can know, so that they can hear my story. This is my first step. And where I go from here is uncertain. I hope everyone learns something from what I have to say because this is really all I have to give. This is the only thing that I can offer. This is the only impact I can make, the only impression I can impart upon people, the only piece of myself that I will ever share so willingly. And I hope I can do it justice for myself and for her. Two souls, one heart.

I'm incredibly fortunate to be where I am at in life. Seven years. The scar running down my chest is the proof that I didn't dream this up. Life is beautiful and chaotic, and it's enough. I tell myself year after year now that while I continue to live with this heart of mine, I will make it a priority to love as many people as humanly possible.

I am grateful for every moment, all of them whether they were good or bad or somewhere in between. I am grateful to be here even when I don't act like it. I am grateful for her, for her family, for my family, for every healthcare provider involved in my care, for my professors over the years, for my friends, for my pharmily, for everyone I've met in the world of pharmacy, and for everyone who has offered a kind word, a smile, love.

Please consider becoming an organ donor at donatelife.net if you are not already one. It is perhaps one of the last acts of love you can perform. And I promise that it will be worthwhile, that it will have an impact, that it will change someone forever. It will mean the world to that little girl who can't breathe without feeling like she's drowning. It will mean the world to that middle aged man whose kidneys have given up. It will mean the world to that 25 year old who has been waiting for more than a year. And it most definitely meant the world to that teenager who thought she wasn't going to make it. But she lives. I live. Because someone decided it would be better to donate than let their loved one's organs go to waste. And that has made and continues to make all the difference. 

Strengths

In CPD today, we discussed the results of the CliftonStrengths assessment that we were supposed to have taken prior to class. I'll be honest, I was simultaneously surprised and disappointed with my results. There are a total of 34 strengths, but we only got to see our top 5. Each strength fell into one of four domains: executing, influencing, relationship building, and strategic thinking. And while getting all of my top 5 strengths in one domain doesn't mean I don't have strengths in the other domains, it still made me feel insecure. All of my results fell into relationship building domain. My strengths were as follows: connectedness, empathy, developer, harmony, and adaptability. I want to believe that all of those are representative of me as I currently am, but I don't know that they are. Rather, I think that it's partly a reflection of who I hope to be.

But then something amazing happened after class. I went to chat with BVT for a little while. We talked about a few different things, but in everything that he said today, there are two things that I will remember for a very long time. One, how he got into his field of pharmacy practice, which is cardiology. And two, that he believes relationships are the important thing. I didn't know that I needed to hear that until he said it. I've lived my whole life basically craving human connection, so much so that it's bothersome to people around me. I have promised myself more than several times over now that in whatever time I have left on this earth that I will genuinely love and care about as many people as humanly possible. There's something very fulfilling about connecting with others around you. One of my favorite things is getting to know people.

Even though all of my strengths according to the CliftonStrengths assessment are in the relationship building domain at this point in time, I still have time to grow. Maybe the next time I take the assessment, I will get a different set of strengths. I'm a work in progress, a painting that is not quite complete, a puzzle that is not yet put together.

Soft Memories

It's past midnight now. I'm listening to music. And I'm remembering some very soft moments from undergrad. The softness and sadness in the music is adding to the way I'm feeling right now. I haven't decided whether that's good or bad yet.

What am I remembering? I'm remembering moments which at the time weren't so wonderful, but I can now look back on them quite fondly. I'll never forget being walked to the counseling center after physics during senior year- that was a rough year for me in more ways than one. When I think back to that moment now, I can't even recall what I was so upset about. At the time, I felt guilty because I had made someone worry about me and it was the last thing I wanted to do. But I also didn't feel worthy of that worry.

The worst days were the ones that I sat alone and cried. Freshman year for sure. Sophomore year probably. Junior year and senior year, people hugged me as cried. I cried a lot in undergrad. I made a list of all the times I cried at school when I was in undergrad. At some point though, I forgot to update it and add to it so I let it be.

But I remember the good moments too. Me sitting in Kite's office quietly studying or doing homework while he graded quizzes or exams. Now that I think about it, I don't know that there were as many quiet days as I'd like to believe. Silly/playful conversations, serious conversations, meaningful conversations, I probably had every conversation possible in that office. Those days were more or less peaceful. I miss them a lot.

The best days were the days when I was able to hang out with more than one professor. They were all in the same hallway. Those were the happiest days, I think. They had the same things to offer- love and kindness and encouragement. But they all showed it in different ways, not always with words. Two mugs of tea, chocolate bars, crushing embraces, ice creams, affirmations.

I'm as emotional now as I was back then. It's a bad thing. It's exhausting to me and bothersome to everyone around me. Even I get sick of me. Pharmacy school is a rollercoaster ride. I need to stop procrastinating now.

Walk With Me

I love going on walks around my neighborhood. It gives me time to reflect, to imagine impossible scenarios, to remember who walked these streets with me. It's nostalgic and bittersweet, cathartic in a way. I think about all of the people in my life that have never walked my neighborhood with me. I picture what it would be like. There's nothing impressive about my hometown and yet there is something about it that provides such solace.

It's winter in this memory of mine. I slipped on some ice in front of the Indian shop where my sister, our mum, and I would go to buy samosas. I laughed it off with whoever I was with, but I'm sure it hurt to have fallen. I can no longer remember if it was just with her or if someone else had been there. That hardly matters now though.

Sometimes, if I close my eyes for a moment as I walk down Main Street from the park, I can imagine him riding his bike alongside me in the most unsafe manner. I valued his company back in high school. He understood something that none of my friends could because it was the one thing we had in common. Was it springtime, I wonder?

Summer now and I walk with my sister. I forget why we got into the habit of walking for a few days. Up and down Main Street in this town we grew up in. We stop at what practically passes for the Star Trek insignia and I take her picture. We are happy. I point out a Vietnamese place across the street next to a place that I once knew to be called 'La Priscilla.' It must have gone out of business because I don't see it anymore.

Summer again and an evening walk with my cousins and their parents. I think I took a picture of my aunt and uncle holding hands as they walked. I thought it was sweet, something worthwhile to reassure myself that love exists in this world. Dimly lit lights showed us the way back. It was dark by the time we all made it inside.

What did they call that ridiculous snowstorm of 2010? Snowmaggeddon, I think it was. My dad was outside doing his best to shovel a narrow path in our driveway, but the snow was at least a foot high. The end of the driveway always accumulates the most snow, which is the worst. Snow plows would come by and move a portion of the snow from the road into the driveways. I went out walking with the twins that day. The sun was shining, I didn't wear a coat. The snowy wonderland produced some beautiful photographs that day.

I'm on the phone with my best friend of 12 years. I'm crying and mourning a friendship that I've lost. I explain the situation to my best friend. She finds it ridiculous and unfounded. But I blame myself anyway and continue to do so for the next few months, and even on occasion blame myself today. I tell her that I'm biased so of course she would side with me. She doesn't blame me and I feel a tiny bit of relief, but still carry a small bit of guilty. If only. This is a walk I go on by myself, but I am not alone.

This one is happier. I walk around the neighborhood with a friend on a mission to discover where our biochemistry professor lives. We eventually find a car with an SU sticker and our curiosity is satisfied. But I have long since forgotten and won't go looking again. On another walk, or perhaps it is the same one, we meet an eccentric woman who offers us popsicles. Her dog is named Rufus. I have forgotten this too. It is a strange day.

My father walks ridiculously fast, I think maybe he always has. Walks with my father have revealed hidden surprises in this town I claim to know so well. We discover fruit that has fallen from the trees by the park. On another day, he points out a shortcut that I should have discovered on my own. As a result, I try to be more observant when I can be. But sometimes I'm too absorbed in my own thoughts and the music.

I can't recall the many other walks I've been on at the moment, but each and every walk is as significant and insignificant as the one before and the one to follow. Sometimes I walk just to remember.

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If you lead, I will not follow you. If I lead, I will not wait for you. Walk with me, beside me, hand in hand until the end.

2/8

My community pharmacy IPPE rotation has come to an end. It's hard to believe that four weeks have passed. When my rotation first started, the end felt so far away. Now that it's over, I feel very sad about it. I'm a very sentimental person and I form attachments quickly and easily, but I never really expected to feel this way about my rotation. Somewhere in my mind, I've told myself that if I don't cross off Friday, May 25th, from my whiteboard calendar that's on the fridge then my rotation won't really be over. It is over though and although my heart still feels heavy I'm working on getting over it. I'm fortunate to have had such a wonderful preceptor, rotation site, and experience. I have a lot of improving to do, but I know what I should focus on as well as what I'd personally like to focus on. 

I somehow, by the grace of God, survived the second semester of my P1 year. I got one more A than I expected and I passed PK. I spent a lot of time worrying about passing PK so it felt really good to know that I had passed. Passing PK means that I can hold my position in SNPhA as Mental Health Awareness Chair and rush for PDC in the fall when school starts. I'm looking forward to beginning therapy modules this upcoming semester. I know that they will be difficult, but I'm ready to give it my all. After a year of pharmacy school, I sort of know where I stand and where I need to improve academically. Ready to take on the world/get an A- I'm looking at you, cardiology module. 

Pharmacy school has been really good for me so far. I don't know that I've necessarily grown a lot as a person, but I think I'm a little more outgoing than I used to be. I do try to put myself into situations where I have to be more social and interactive. I make more efforts to volunteer for things than I ever did in the past because I told myself that I would be better in pharmacy school. The things that I do may not necessarily have a lot of impact in the grander scheme of things, but my willingness hopefully says a lot about me. I have been and am very loved by the people around me in pharmacy school. Sometimes I wonder if my friends really understand the depth of my gratitude towards them and how genuine my love is for all of them. I love my friends and my fellow pharmacists to be very much. On the whole, I still feel that everyone is supportive of each other and always willing to lend a helping hand, and I'm truly grateful for that. I've experienced a lot of firsts and I'm happy to have experienced them with wonderful people. And I can't wait to keep experiencing more firsts with them. 

P1 is done, P2 here we come! 

If you missed it, here is my reflection post about the first semester of pharmacy school: 1/8

Procrastination, Contemplation

I should be studying right now, but I am continuing my procrastination for just a little bit longer to reflect on the semester a little bit. I plan on hopefully getting a decent bit of studying done tonight even though all I want to do is sleep.

I really don't know where to begin so I'll start with today. We had our last PK lecture of P1 year today and got cookies at the end as a treat. I was pretty cranky during class because I was worried about my exam grade. I needed to do so well on this past exam because I really put myself in a bad situation earlier on in the semester with PK. At the very least, I can be proud of myself for improving in PK- each exam grade has been higher than the last. Maybe I can continue the trend for the final exam if I'm lucky enough. The ability to do well and understand is somewhere inside of me. PK was my Achilles heel this semester, but it really didn't have to be if only I had given myself the time. I have one more chance to prove myself this semester. And I never go down without a fight.

I went to see 'A Quiet Place' this afternoon with Amanda, Christian, Sandrine, Jasmine, Cloud, and Dan. It was an okay movie with some more than okay people. I was only a little bit disappointed by the ending. It seemed like a lot of trouble for the way it ended. Still, I appreciated the suspense/thrill of it all.

The more time that passes of pharmacy school, the happier and sadder I become. It's like when I was back at SU and couldn't imagine myself anywhere else but there. Well, it happened again. And it keeps happening in more than just my education, it happens at work too. Change has always been what I'm most afraid. With summer approaching, I'm worried that things will change, that I will lose everyone. It's a constant and irrational worry, but maybe it's time for me to leave it up to them. I'll still be here as I have been with outstretched hands waiting to be held and to hold.

I wonder when we all started falling into place. I appreciate that we mingle with each other. Everyone has their own usual crew, but our bonds with each other on the whole are pretty strong. There's always a kind word to be said, a laugh to be shared, love to be given and reciprocated. The support was there from the beginning and it continues to grow. It's a lot easier to believe in yourself, to love yourself, when other people do too.

Thank you for being there to lift me up when I put myself down.

1/8

I meant to write about this past semester a lot sooner, but I've pushed it off because I am a procrastinator. I was sick during the two most important weeks of the semester, pre-finals week and finals week. Oddly enough, it didn't take long for me to get better as soon as I got home. Maybe I'm allergic to Richmond or maybe I am subconsciously a lot more stressed out than I think I am. Whatever the case is, I just have to tough it out for the next few years like everyone else.

This first semester of pharmacy school has been quite a rollercoaster ride if I'm being honest. In the beginning, I had no idea what I was doing or what was happening. The same is still true, but I'm not entirely alone in my cluelessness. I find that beginnings are almost always lonely and endings are almost always sad. I've always had a hard time with change and being surrounded by new faces at a new school in a new city was terrifying. I wondered if I would ever fit in with the people around me, if I would ever feel comfortable in this unknown place. It's funny how you can't pinpoint the exact moment you become friends with someone or the moment when you realize that you're comfortable enough to be yourself, but it always happens sooner or later in a new environment. It's only a matter of time before you see the new people around you as something precious, something worth holding onto, something worth loving. I never expect that to happen to me, but it always does. It's nice to be in a place where people on the whole genuinely care.

Emotions aside, I really let the ball drop academically this first semester. Despite some disappointments grade-wise, I'm still rather grateful that my GPA didn't sink below a certain point so I'm not completely down in the game, but I'm almost certain that I'll be out of the running for Rho Chi when the time comes. Let's just say that I learned my lesson and hopefully learned it well enough to not repeat the same mistakes next semester. I'm ready to be a better student. I owe that to myself and my classmates.

Happy

It's funny how quickly we adjust to new environments, how quickly we love the people around us. It feels strange to look back to August because I'm not that lonely, sad, lost individual anymore. That doesn't mean I never feel that way, but I don't feel it as strongly as I once did. If someone would have told me back in August that I'd have so few days of feeling unloved or feeling like I don't belong, I don't know if I would have believed them. But it always works out that way, doesn't it? It's a blessing to feel as loved and as at home as I have felt over the past two months. Everyone says it goes so fast and that you become a family, how is it that they're always right? The first semester is almost over. I'm going to be so bored without them, but I'll survive somehow. I always do.

With the end of this semester not only comes an unforgiving cold with the possibility of snow, but also final exams, which I'm not too thrilled about. The first semester of P1 year hasn't necessarily been terribly difficult, but it has been an adjustment. It's an adjustment because we've had 10 classes, two of which have ended. Eight more finals to go! I haven't started studying yet, still working up to it, but I figure it's okay if I start organizing myself tomorrow. Mondays are for begrudgingly being productive.

I really appreciate and enjoy going to school and living in Richmond. I like it a lot because I live within walking distance of school so I'm at least getting some exercise. Living in a city feels so different from a small town and yet it feels the same. It's different because it's still unfamiliar territory but it's also become home away from home. I don't think that's really the doing of the city though. I think home, as cheesy as it sounds, is wherever love can be found. So really, home is everywhere.

I've reached an interesting point in life where I don't really know where I'm going, where I'm going to be years from now, who I am, or who I'm going to be years from now, but I know that I'm in the right place with the right people at the right time. I am happy, to be here, to love, and be loved in return. That's all for now.

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Side note: here's the link to my realization of belonging in pharmacy school --http://dreamingforpeace.blogspot.com/2017/09/its-funny-how-our-perceptions-can-be-so.html

My Heart Transplant

I've blogged about this several times already, but as it is that time of the year again, I feel compelled to continue my tradition of blogging about one of the most pivotal moments in my life: my heart transplant. Because I've blogged about this so many times, I'm always unsure of what more I can say or add to the past memories I've shared about it. I don't talk about it often enough in person. And maybe, it's time to change that.

So for everyone who's joining me for the first time for this heartiversary post, I'll share a very brief overview. When I was 15, I was diagnosed with dilated cardiomyopathy, essentially a condition in which the heart is inefficient at pumping blood. And, well, it's kind of important for the heart to do its job properly or else bad things happen. Treatment didn't work for me and I got progressively worse, eventually making it on the transplant list at status 1A. It's a little strange though because I knew when I was diagnosed earlier in 2011 with dilated cardiomyopathy that I would need a transplant. I don't know how I knew, but I knew. And I struggled with the implications of what that would mean. Could I live knowing that my heart wasn't mine? And then it happened. On October 20th, 2011, at the age of 16, I was given the gift of life: a new heart. And I lived, but it took me time to emotionally accept this heart that beats inside of my chest as my own. This blog post is to commemorate and celebrate my sixth heartiversary.

Was it painful? Yes. Physically, emotionally, and mentally. It's the most physical pain I've ever experienced in my life and one of the most emotionally exhaustive events in my life. With every year that passes, I remember less and less of what happened. And honestly, I'm not sure that my memories are true anymore. Trauma is something strange because your brain blocks out a lot of it, but it doesn't block out everything. My experience was traumatic and it took someone else telling me that for me to realize it. It's a different kind of trauma, but still trauma. I suppose that's why I don't remember how it felt anymore. I remember a few big moments, like when I was told that they had found a heart. I remember some of the smaller ones too, but only vaguely, like watching the Game Show Network (GSN) all day.

My past posts about my transplant have not always been positively framed and that's because I want people to understand and know the truth. I've been incredibly fortunate to have received a transplant, but it's not a cure by any means. I'm incredibly grateful because I have a much better quality of life now. At the same time though, I'm supposed to be more cautious, especially since I have a suppressed immune system to stave off rejection of my heart. This is why I often say that I can't afford to be sick.

Transplant is still a really emotional topic for me and I think it always will be. Sometimes, I have a hard time believing that I'm still here. Some days are so wonderful that it feels like I'm dreaming. I was 16 when I received my transplant and I'm 22 now. Despite all of the time that has passed, I'm not sure I did fully come to terms with my transplant. It might also just be me overthinking things and making mountains out of ant hills. Who can say for sure? Lately I've been wondering if I deserved my transplant. It's a terrible thing to wonder, but I think I only wonder that because I'm letting life influence me in not so great ways. Someone thought I deserved a second chance at life, maybe it's time for me to see it their way. I don't want anyone to think that I'm not grateful. When I feel really down, I sometimes think of her and I cry and then I move on. I've been through too much to give up on myself.

Let me not leave this post without some positivity. I've done a lot of things over the past 6 years because of my transplant. I graduated high school and college. I'm in pharmacy school with some of the most wonderful and lovely people this world has seen. I got my driver's license at 21. I got my first real job in community pharmacy and have been employed there for a little over 2 years now. I live away from home in a city. And I'm cautiously happy these days.

Not many people ask me about my transplant, but I don't mind if they do. In fact, I wish people did ask me questions. But that is mostly on me. While my transplant is not a secret by any means, I'm not to the point where I use it as a conversation starter. Perhaps it should be a conversation starter. I have often thought about using it to open conversation, but I also don't want to make people feel uncomfortable or feel like they need to pity me. I don't need nor want pity, just love and acceptance like everyone else. When I was younger, I always wanted people to have a surprised reaction when I told them about my transplant, but the truth is that a lot of people don't have that reaction or at least they don't express it if they do. I think I used to want a surprised reaction because it would usually mean that people would ask questions and take an interest in me. I guess you could say that I appreciated the attention and always sort of have. But I have also always been the type of person that needs extra love and care for whatever reason. My transplant is one of the few things that I will always share freely about myself. I welcome curiosity and questions. And as I move forward in life, I'm realizing that my education has the potential to put me into an incredible position of advocacy and maybe even an opportunity to help others like myself. And I want to be here long enough to be able to achieve that dream. So the goal is to be the longest living heart transplant recipient obviously.

Please consider becoming an organ donor at donatelife.net if you are not already one. It is one of the most selfless acts of love you can perform. Someone else's selfless act of love saved my life. Your selfless act of love could save someone too.

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Note: The title of this blog post is modeled after the episode titles of the medical TV show, Scrubs.

"It's funny how our perceptions can be so off..."

Hi everyone, it's been a while since I last blogged. As some of you may know (or not know), I made the decision to continue my education further and go to pharmacy school. And I couldn't be happier to be where I am now. I've had the most wonderful weekend spending time with my friends and being able to (hopefully) represent my school well.

I didn't have the easiest or happiest transition into pharmacy school. Leaving home and my central support system was really difficult, but I've adjusted and have gotten used to life in a city. It's been an incredibly emotional journey for me, but I am really grateful for every moment. Yes, even the less pleasant ones because they've led up to this.

The title of this post is a tribute to the medical TV show, Scrubs. The full quote (or rather the part that I love the most) goes like this: "It's funny how our perceptions can be so off, like when you're searching for a place to fit in and you don't even realize you've been there the whole time."

I always wanted to fit in everywhere I went immediately. I wanted to have friends instantly. But realistically speaking, it usually doesn't work that way. There is no shortcut to feeling like you belong or even making friends. I've had to relearn that over and over again. Even though I only started school 6 weeks ago, I feel like I'm at a point where I can say with some confidence and a very full heart that I am in the right place with the right people at the right time.

I've had moments where I falter and feel inadequate, where I wonder if I'm really in the right place for me. But I am. My school made the decision to have me just as much as I made the decision to join them. If my insecurities didn't weigh so heavily, I would have made my realization much sooner.

I wondered when I would have this feeling of belonging like Elliot did in Scrubs. I waited and hoped for it to happen. And I can't quite tell when it finally sunk in, I can't quite pinpoint the exact moment. Was it the day I met my P2 mentor? Or was it on a Friday morning while I waited for class to start and while waiting was able to talk to one of my classmates/friends? Was it right before my first pharmaceutics/biopharm exam when I opened up to a classmate/friend? Or was it last night when the girls and I had game night (and I totally won the top 300 game)? I don't know. But somewhere in between everything that has happened, I've started to feel comfortable and so I've stopped searching for a place to fit in.

We all want so much to fit in and be liked that we don't realize we're already where we should be. Feeling like you belong takes time. And as for being liked, well, what's not to like? When you feel like you're surrounded by an incredible group of individuals, maybe it's because you're not too shabby yourself.

Summer 2017

I haven't blogged since graduation so I guess I'm overdue to say something. (Also, I have two drafts of unfinished blog posts so yeah). Honestly, I don't think I have the words to describe the past couple of months beyond saying how utterly miserable I was for about 75% of the time. I don't mean to downplay the time that I have spent with friends because I really do appreciate their company and their willingness to hang out, but I've always hated summer and this summer in particular has been the most trying ever since the summer leading into my junior year of high school. This summer has gotten better as it's started to come to a close though. The weather is nice right now and I'm trying to take advantage of it before the stifling humidity and heat return by spending as much time with people and doing as many things as I can with the limited energy that I have.

This summer wasn't a completely terrible one, I'll admit that much. Earlier on in the summer, Claire and I went to a lavender farm and to the gardenfest at Belle Grove. I even spent a few hours at her house and got to meet the bottle fed baby goats. That part of summer was peaceful. I caught up with Taylor at Newtown Creamery one night, and she was kind enough to take me home from a weekend visit to see my sister. I've spent a lot of time with Emily, haha. I've stayed over a few nights and eaten yummy food and gotten ice cream more times than I ever have. I blame the ice cream habit on Laurel. (yeah, I call 'em by their first names, fight me lol) Rachel has joined us for our ice cream outings. Movie night actually happened with Cristen and Emily. I finally got to see Rogue One and it's so beautiful and devastating at the same time. I don't think I'll ever get over that movie, especially how perfect and saddening that ending was. Cristen and I are slated to see The Big Sick this weekend, which I'm excited for. I only ever enjoy summer as it comes to an end.

The prospect of this summer ending is a bit scary though. I'm not going back to SU in the fall and I won't even be working at my pharmacy until winter break. Dr. Bly was right about me when he said that I like being in my comfort zone. (okay, I don't call them all by their first names, but I'll get around to it someday lol) I don't like beginnings or endings very much, the middle is a good place to be. I think about my time at SU a lot and how it took me so much time to let go and fall into the person I was going to be throughout college. (it's Brett's fault if anyone was wondering, jk) I don't make friends very easily either and I find that starting fresh is always difficult. Confidence takes forever to build up. For that reason alone, I was so incredibly lucky to have gone to SU. I was timid and quiet during my freshman year. I can't help but wonder if freshman me would ever recognize senior me. SU, like every college, has its downsides, but the most wonderful thing about it is how much you end up growing as a person. I was never confident in myself until my senior year when it became apparent to me that I was capable of more than I ever gave myself credit for, but we know where that confidence has gone now. A lot of my growth as a person is, and this is going to sound super sappy, due to how much love and reassurance I was given at SU. Tough love makes you resilient. But let's be real, I was always treated with the soft kind of love rather than the tough love...usually. By mid-August, though, I'll have to reinvent myself and be comfortable with being uncomfortable for a little while until I fall into place. We'll see how that goes.

"It builds character"

I graduated from SU yesterday. What's more surprising was that I didn't cry at all yesterday. I told myself that I would feel differently from when I graduated high school. Honestly, graduating from college is so different from high school. I thought I would feel sadder when I graduated from high school, but I accepted it as it was. I was quite happy throughout graduation yesterday, despite the weather. The heartache, I realized, comes later. There is so much more emotion associated with college.

I'll go back to SU more than a few times this summer, I'm sure. (Probably tomorrow, if I'm being honest.) But it won't be the same anymore. I almost feel like a memory rather than a current existence. I'll never be a student at SU again. I'll never sit in my spot in HLSB to study or do homework or procrastinate. I'll never wander through the hallway on the third floor of HLSB to bother everyone as a student ever again. It's hard to not think of all of the things I'll never do again as a student. Even though I wanted to graduate (and have), I also didn't want to leave. I don't want to be forgotten.

There's a lot of pain and heartbreak in the buildings on campus, in the walls of those buildings, and on the sidewalks. I can still picture some of the memories clearly, I can transpose them onto the surroundings. Some of them happy, some of them not so much, but all of them make me nostalgic. For this reason alone, it'll be good for me to leave and move on. It's about time I pick up my feet and let them take me elsewhere, somewhere away from home and all of the emotion associated with home.

It's funny to think back to freshman year and how painfully awkward and quiet I used to be. I used to think I would never make any friends. And then something beautiful happened and I made friends. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, I didn't get to keep all of them. Time, distance, and different perspectives can really make or break a friendship. I also made mistakes too, and those mistakes costed me a few very precious friendships that I had assumed I would have forever. Do I regret it? Of course, I always will regret that there were people I lost because of my own actions. But some lessons take some hurting to learn from them. And now, I treasure the friends that I have been able to keep all the more. No matter what happens from here on out, I'll remember everyone I held dear at Shenandoah. Memories last for as long as you choose to remember them and I choose to keep all of the ones that I can, no matter how wonderful or awful they may have been.

Thank you to everyone who has been a part of my journey at SU, especially my family, my friends (those that I've made along the way and those who have been there from before), the professors of the biology department, the professors of the chemistry department, the one man physics department, the best general education professors one could ever have, Tracy, and so many others. And thank you to God, my family, my donor family, and my donor, without whom I would not have had the opportunity to make it this far.

Thank you, SU, for loving me so well despite me being a mess.

So, what's next? Summer. Work. A microeconomics class, much to my discontent. Hopefully lots of reading. Lots of Netflix, of course. Some SU visiting. Hanging out with friends. Spending time with family.

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The title of this blog post is the most annoying and cringeworthy catchphrase I heard over the past four years at SU. Thanks, Dr. Kite.

"It is infinitely better to transplant a heart than to bury it to be devoured by worms"

Happy fifth heartiversary to me! (Or as Dr. Kite referred to it yesterday-"have a heart day.") It's hard to believe that it's been five years since I received my heart. I owe my very existence today to my donor family. Without their difficult decision, it's hard to say whether or not I'd be here today. Of course, I also have to thank the wonderful cardiology team, nurses, and other medical personnel I had at Johns Hopkins-specifically Dr. Scheel, Peggy, Kyle, Mike, Verna, and Dawn. I hold a lifetime of gratitude towards my family for their love, prayers, and patience. To the friends I held dear at the time, I thank you as well for your love. And finally, thank God.

It's strange to try to look back and recall the way things were five years ago. I don't have the best of memories for all the obvious reasons-people tend not to remember traumatic events. I was looking through my main email account yesterday and it's like I was reading about someone I didn't know. Rapid-ish weight loss, an inability to eat without feeling the need to throw, an inability to take medication because of that. All of those awful things among many others. Who was that person? I guess it sometimes surprises me that I was dying at 16. I have the scars to prove survival. Six scars in total. The biggest scar running down the center of my chest, also the same one that makes me cry from time to time when I become really aware of it. I wouldn't wish the way I felt or what I went through five years ago on anyone because it's scary, it's heartbreaking, it's traumatizing, it's everything that so many people are afraid of.

As a heart transplant recipient, life can be really hard. It's not easy to accept that your continued existence is because of someone else's loss. I have ugly days where I feel guilty for still being here. I feel guilty that my donor isn't here but I am. And I feel that guilt because I am unsure of whether or not I deserve my place in the world. And all of that makes me feel sad because even though I never knew my donor (and never would be able to), I know she wouldn't want me to ever feel guilty. I keep realizing time and again that I've been very well loved. And with all that love from so many people, feeling guilty becomes so silly. I am so loved, even on the days where I can't see it clearly. I am so loved. Thank you for loving me on days when I could not find it in me to love myself.

Between this heartiversary and last year's, I got my driver's license, survived a summer of constant research and work, and presented at a research conference. I have a bit of a headache right now so I can't think of any other things to add, but I'd say that's not too shabby. I am incredibly grateful to still be here on this Earth. To live and love people for another day, another month, another year. It's wonderful. 

Here's to my fifth heartiversary and hopefully many decades to come!

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To my heart sister, Millie-our Dragonfly family misses you. It won't be the same without you when all of us get back together. But we will honor your memory by being there for each other and holding our own against whatever obstacles we may face. Love you always and forever. Rest peacefully, friend.

"I watched the world go round and round and see mine turning upside down"

Hello, friends. The word 'hello' looks weird to me today. It's been a long while since you've heard from me. I'll be back again shortly after this post to commemorate my five year transplant anniversary, but until then I'll leave you with how I've been.

I can't describe the past few weeks, or maybe month, as anything less than physically, emotionally, and mentally draining. In short, I've been something of a mess and it's starting to show in my academic performance and my general appearance and mood. I guess fall break couldn't come at a more appropriate time for me. I hope I can recompose myself to a better version of myself.

Happiness has been in and out of my reaches lately. And it's been a little lonely as far as my social life goes. I don't have much of one anymore--everyone is too busy, I feel really out of place and disconnected, and I'm too tired to do anything. I spend much of my free time with my professors and with a few friendly familiar faces in HLSB and that's about it. I guess that makes me kind of lame, but I take what kindness, humor, and love I can get.

I took my modern physics midterm exam today...or at least semi-tried to. I feel bad for Dr. Bly because he has to try to make sense out of my nonsense. You might be thinking that I'm being too hard on myself, but I promise that I'm not. All of my answers were complete rubbish. I wasn't prepared enough and it's obvious that I didn't learn anything in the past several weeks even though I should have. But I guess that's the price you pay when you jump off a cliff and try to build your wings on the way down. The worst part is how anxious I've been leading up to this midterm and knowing that it's not going to be okay. I used to think that any one of my chemistry classes was my match, but I was wrong. I've met my match and it's irrefutably physics and always will be. Dark, complicated, beautiful physics.

I'm still nowhere close to figuring out what to do after graduation. A lot of people tell me that it's okay, but that's hard to believe. I'm 21 and I don't have a clue. I used to think that I'd be that type of person who just goes to school for the rest of their life, but I'm not sure I could survive that much schooling.

Yesterday, I asked Dr. Haubrick why everyone believes in me except for me and she told me something along the lines of this: "Fawzia's biggest critic is Fawzia." I told Dr. Cantwell today that I think people overestimate me and she basically told me that they (the professors) are right in the way they perceive me, meaning that it's time for me to change the way I think of myself. I want to believe them so badly, but I just can't get my brain on board. And I really can't get it on board after that physics midterm. That's just not going to happen. I've become really great at disappointing lately.

I've been listening to Genesis a lot lately and went through a brief phase of listening to Sting and The Police. I think it's been helping to keep me in check...either that or it's been contributing to my overall gloominess. And I can't tell which it is today because today has been rough.

Sorry 'bout that. I sound too negative, I know. I know it doesn't sound like I am trying, but I am. I am trying. I'm just tired. Forgive me for the stream of negativity that has become this blog post. I'm just tired.

to be deleted some day

To my first love,

I’m glad that I loved you so strongly once upon a time, but even more grateful that we are still friends. I still love you, but time and distance have made the intensity of the love I felt for you back then less intense. I wanted to tell you about my feelings back then, but I didn’t want to destroy our friendship. I fear that a confession would most assuredly have had dire consequences and I was unwilling to lose you as a dear friend. But I’m pretty sure you knew how I felt from the hugs and how much I wanted to hold your hand and be close to you.

Your way of thinking and existing was fresh and new to me. I had never met anyone with a mind like yours. I learned so much from you. Knowing you made me a more informed person. Loving you made me softer and happier at heart. I still wonder from time to time whether or not you cared as much about me as I did you. I’ve always known that the answer was and still is no. I wanted to impact you as much as you impacted me, but I failed miserably. I’m sorry that I was never able to return the favor.

Please know that I’m not ashamed to have loved you back then, only worried that you wouldn’t want to be friends anymore, which is why I never said anything. I couldn’t have had a better first love. If by some chance you happen upon this note on my blog, promise me that you will place these words into the appropriate context—that is to say that these words, these feelings belong to a time in which I will not go back to out of respect for myself and for you.

Thank you for letting me love you back then and now.