01/01/2026
2025: Unfiltered
Took awhile to pen this down, a summary of a year that feels both vividly present and strangely elusive. My memory has been a messed up jigsaw, and piecing together the chronological sequence of events, filling in the missing puzzle pieces, requires a level of processing that's relatively exhausting. While most people typically sum up their past year around this time, it’s not something I've usually done. But 2025? This year was so exceptionally eventful, so utterly transformative, that I felt a compelling need to finally put it into words. Consider this my raw, unfiltered diary entry for a year that truly re-wrote my existence.
For those of you who know me well, you’re aware that the past few years haven't exactly been a walk in the park. What started as a deeply emotional struggle eventually manifested physically, casting long, dark shadows over my life. There was a period, one I barely dare to revisit, where I was unfortunately suicidally depressed. The sheer desperation led me to try anything and everything, just for a moment of painless relief – from ropes to detergents, to overdosing. Each attempt, thankfully, failed. Eventually, I reached a point where I simply gave up on the act, but the desire to not be awake, to not be sober, persisted. I retreated, cutting off contact with the world. People either gave up on me, or perhaps, wisely kept their distance, because I was no longer the person they knew, and the truth is, they didn't know how to help anymore. The darkness was absolute.
Then came last September, a pivotal moment that truly forced a reckoning. I was given a stark prognosis: I had only four to five months left. My body, which had been quietly struggling for so long, began to progressively fail. My organs started shutting down, my hair and nails began to fall out, I developed pneumonia, and then, the onset of Hepatic Encephalopathy (HE). HE is a struggle I grapple with even now, leaving me with a significant cognitive disability, particularly those frustrating memory lapses that can, at times, spiral into full-blown panic attacks.
I spent close to two months in the hospital, my body fighting a battle I hadn't realized was so dire. They drained a staggering 20 liters of fluid build-up from my abdomen. Following this, I had to embark on the painful and arduous journey of re-learning how to walk. Peripheral neuropathy had taken hold, leaving me with constant, stabbing pains in my feet even when stationary. Simultaneously, my sensory nerve endings were permanently damaged, meaning I couldn't feel simple things like a puddle of water, or differentiate between stepping on a grain of rice or a shard of glass. Plain disorientation. During this time, my brain simply malfunctioned so severely that I often didn't even know people had visited me. There's no memory of their kindness, no recollection of their presence. That blank space still haunts me sometimes.
Then after my discharge, I was diagnosed with Avascular Necrosis (AVN) in both hips, a lump in my kidney, and a hormonal disorder. Within a few short months, merely existing without excruciating pain became impossible as my femoral head persistently ground against my hip sockets. Simple movements, like shifting in bed, could make me break out in a cold sweat despite being on a cocktail of powerful painkillers. The physical pain, layered on top of the mental and emotional scars, was unbearable.
During this intense period, I naturally cut off contact with even more people. I became invisible, my self-esteem low to non-existent, struggling profoundly with who I was and who I had become. But through it all, there were the steadfast ones who stayed, and others who consciously chose to be around me. To them, I am eternally, profoundly thankful. Their presence was a quiet anchor in a raging storm.
For the majority of 2025, I was wheelchair-bound. I endured two total hip replacement surgeries, and both times, on the operating table, I nearly died due to excessive blood loss. I spent my birthday in the sterile confines of a hospital room, a stark contrast to any celebration I’d ever known. Basic day-to-day tasks involving my lower limbs, things most people take for granted, had to be completely re-learned. Each step, each movement, was a monumental effort.
While I mostly put on a brave face, pretending to be okay amid this relentless nightmare, things took an undeniably positive and truly fulfilling turn. In a strange, almost amusing twist of fate, the Hepatic Encephalopathy, which wiped out most of my memories from 2022 to 2024, inadvertently became a strange form of reset. Or perhaps, being so utterly caught up in the endless amount of hospital visits, tests, and treatments, I somehow, almost miraculously, walked out of depression. The sheer intensity of fighting for physical survival seemed to push the emotional darkness aside.
And then, there was Violet. The chance to rehome this cream Pomachon was a gift I didn’t know I needed. She arrived like a burst of pure, unadulterated energy, bringing a spark to my life for the very first time in what felt like an eternity. With her by my side, opportunities for pawsitting, which I’d dabbled in before, became even more prolific. Her presence motivated me to pursue something new, something positive. I enrolled and earned my Animal Care and Handling Certificate and even started taking up pet grooming. Things grew even more exciting when she became pregnant. We navigated her pregnancy and labor together, and she became a proud mother to three beautiful girls - Willow, Eevee & Poppy, delivered right here in my bedroom. All three now live happily within the neighborhood, a constant reminder of that incredible journey.
Violet became my unwavering companion and silent therapist during my physical recovery. She pranced patiently beside me when I tottered in pain, slowed her steps when I limped, paused by my side while I needed to catch my breath and wait for the pain to lessen. She even learned to walk alongside my wheelchair, a steady, comforting presence. And today, I’m glad, with utmost gratitude, to say that I have started walking again. It's not perfect – I still rely on the wheelchair if I need to bear heavy loads or travel long distances, and painkillers remain a part of my daily routine. But yes, I am walking again, with Violet faithfully by my side.
Looking ahead, 2026 certainly isn't going to be easy. While the popular sentiment of a "new year, new me" feels difficult to embrace fully, especially with my body now struggling to properly break down fats and carbohydrates due to my decompensated liver, a recent discovery… but well, I’ve also been told I have another two years to go! So who knows where life will take me next? What adventures await in this unexpected bonus time? I've faced the abyss, walked through fire, and found an incredible light. Whatever comes, I'll meet it, one step at a time, now with Violet and Eevee by my side.
If you made it this far in my post, thank you for being part of my journey, for your patience, your understanding, and for reading this incredibly personal reflection.
"There is a light at the end of every tunnel. Some tunnels just happen to be longer than others," - Ada Adams
Special thanks to & .dhalwriter for helping me find sanity.
