237 days later

I have finally returned to this neglected space. The space that used to be my outlet, the space that I used to unleash the emotional turmoils thrashing in my ribcage, translating them into words that could set me free from the heaviness of it all.
I've had a roller coaster ride in the last 237 days that I have not written.

Bruised eyelids have long healed, blood spilled have long dried up. My soul had been crushed and revived again, I have gained and lost friendships. I severed ties with my family, only to have them coming back begging for forgiveness and I surprised myself with my apathy and disgust of the play they have put up just to have me go home.
I have once again wandered into the garden of messy relationships, a butterfly flitting from roses to sunflowers to daisies and even stupidly, to ordinary weed grasses. In those 237 days, I have seen so much about the beauty and ugliness of humanity, and I have grown so much.

I turn 22 this year. A lot of people have told me that your 22nd year will be the hardest year to survive ---- that being the awkward age to be. Like being 17. Or 20. Legally an adult, yet I'm still a teenager. A young adolescent? I don't know.

In the 237 days I was absent from this space, too much has happened. I could not pen all of them down, the distressing details, the euphoric moments, the tears, the fears. I've never had such a roller coaster before, and I thought I had it bad.

Also, I experienced my first car crash, though fortunately I sustained minimal damage. My brain is still in a daze, a state of shock from the events that unfurled so violently within days, I was overwhelmed, and still am.