Found!

Have you ever felt truly lost and lonely, even when surrounded by people? I know I have—more times than I can count. Growing up is hard, and often I find myself yearning to be like my baby niece. Just imagine a life where you’re fed, rocked to sleep, bathed, clothed, and even burped. Sometimes I think about how nice it would be to feel bloated and have someone there to help me burp it out.

Instead, I’m gripped by fears that threaten to overwhelm me. One memory stands out sharply: my first year at university. I was convinced I had everything under control during a group presentation, only to stumble over my words and embarrass myself in front of the entire class. The heat of shame washed over me, especially when a guy sarcastically clapped, intensifying my humiliation.

Yet, as fate would have it, that jerk turned out to be interested in me. His charm softened the sting of my defeat, especially since he was cute. However, past moments of embarrassment play on a loop in my mind, like a never-ending stream of misery surfacing even in moments of happiness. It’s as if my thoughts aren’t my own, filled with things I’d rather forget—no normal person would want to relive such pain.

From that point on, I dreaded presentations at university. My shaky communication skills didn’t help either, leading to interactions that often felt like cringe-worthy disasters. Friends had become mere acquaintances, leaving me feeling lonely. I tried to connect, but no one seemed to stick around long enough to become a true friend. Still, I pressed on, desperate for connection.

Perhaps what I really needed was a partner—a soulmate to make my world spin. I thought, “You can do this, Chantel. Go to church; that’s where nice, genuine guys are found.” But oh, how wrong I was. I did meet someone there, but he turned out to be a nightmare. My heart carried the weight of that trauma, reminding me of how love can haunt us when a relationship crumbles.

Every waking moment became a reminder of my foolishness, which is embarrassing to admit even to myself. The idea of imploding under the weight of it all was suffocating. I searched for distractions to calm my racing thoughts. Jogging seemed promising—after all, the internet promised it could drown out thoughts and bring a sense of accomplishment.

For a while, I found joy in jogging, motivated by a running app that kept me accountable. I felt a sense of healing, but sadly, that lasted only a week. My weight melted away, which I needed since I was almost skin and bones from the stress. I became the emotional helicopter once again, with thoughts of Brian swirling in my mind. Brian—my ex, who I once thought was my soulmate—was an echo that resounded louder than ever.

Still, in this chaos, I kept trying to find a flicker of hope. Each day was a mix of struggle and moments of quiet resilience. I may have felt lost, but beneath the layers of despair lay the stubborn ember of hope, flickering just enough to remind me I was still here, still fighting, still searching for light amidst the noise. I didn’t know what that hope was, but it was there—just a sliver each day to keep me going.

But the mind is a ticking time bomb; it can only handle so much. Emotions start to show on the outside, and when a girl’s image starts to crumble, her identity goes with it. Pimples emerged like never before, reflecting the hurt and bitterness within. I wore my emotions on my face, and they began to age me. How then would I find a good-looking soulmate when I was aging faster than I was meant to?

Marriage was another way I could gain some existence in this world. It was important that I did so before graduating, but with only a semester left, it was going to be hard finding someone. My depleting beauty only added to the catastrophe of my impending doomsday countdown. Oh, and I’ve also tried a few side hustles, which all turned out to be demotivating factors that destroyed my character.

What will I do when I graduate? I’m not the best in class, so my grades won’t get me a job quickly, nor will my interview skills score me any luck. I need to be independent, but it’s hard. This life is hard. I see my peers achieving great things almost every day. That’s why I deleted Facebook; the pressure was just getting worse. I need help, and I need it fast. Life is about to get serious, and I lack in almost every crucial aspect of adulthood.

But from whom? Everyone is living a life of their own. To top it all off, I do not want to be a burden to anyone, which only complicates my need for help. I wish someone would sort out my mind and the things I want for myself. So far, what I want seems clearly out of reach given my current circumstances. Maybe skincare products would do me good, but those require money, which I also do not have. I don’t have friends to borrow from, and my guardians don’t have any to spare. I’m too much of a coward to indulge in criminal activities and too shy to turn to the streets.

I’m drowning in a sea of my own worthlessness. Maybe death would bring me peace. Oh wait—I love my life enough not to end it, but I don’t love it enough to truly live it. Does it make sense? It doesn’t, but what about my life makes sense? I’m just skin, muscle, bones, and emotions—the negative ones—since the happy ones seem to evade my mind. When will I be happy? I’ve cried so many times, and the tears never seem to run out. It’s as if I was born to cry; maybe that’s the consolation I get for carrying all these burdens—at least I can cry about them.

Today specifically , all that weight rests heavily upon me. I cannot even describe how I feel; it’s a deep hole of emptiness, yet filled with so much that it hurts. Every aspect and corner of my mind is ablaze with torments of the past and the horrors to come. Every time a thought arises, a deep ache resonates in my heart, accompanied by a sharp pain that weakens my knees and sends chills down my spine. I feel empty yet somehow full, which makes me incredibly tired—so, so tired. I want to scream, but the energy just isn’t there. It’s heavy; the weight of everything I’m carrying is immense, yet I still feel empty. Why am I empty when I am so full?

“Someone save me,” I sob. It comes deep from within. Oh, how I wail—a silent wail, drawing no attention from my roommates. I’m going through so much yet still conscious of what others think of me. That thought makes me break down even further. I want to explode, and I do—a silent explosion, with heart-wrenching tears but without noise—a personal breakdown, surrendering to the storm of my thoughts.

But then, you didn’t let me go. No, you did not, and I’m glad you didn’t.

Because in that moment of giving up, a breath of fresh air surged within me, surrounding me like a shield, soothing the fears and lies that gripped my mind. It was intense; it was a quickening in my spirit—an awareness I had never felt before. Light imploded in me eliminating the darkness within. It had no words but meaning as its gentle presence spoke to me. It spoke to my innermost being, and boy, did my spirit sing. It was a rush of warmth, an embrace of  old—it was all the goodness and kindness wrapped into one as it came and made a dwelling in me. I felt whole in the part that had felt empty. I had found it. I had finally found it, or rather, love had found me, for the Lord had refused to let me go.