Living Past Twenty

Hamilton is undoubtedly a musical created for and about being an immigrant, particularly a PoC immigrant. Still, some lines and bits can carry meaning for even the whitest Americans that have been here forever, like myself. For me, one of the hardest hitting songs is My Shot. I’m not going to act like I’ve been short in opportunities in life or something. My white, middle class privilege has provided many options in life.

My mental illnesses have not been so generous.

Hamilton at one point says, “I never thought I’d live past twenty,” and that was a gut punch the first time I heard it. And every time since. There are other lines in that song that grab me in a similar way, but none like that line. Because that line is an actual thought I’ve had many, many times.

I’ve been fighting with my own head since I was ten. Every day is a toss up and how I’m managing in the morning has little to do with how I’m managing at night. I’ve accepted this is my life, but the first years were harder to grapple with. I was a kid, I was in denial that I even had depression, because I wasn’t crying all the time so how could I? I didn’t know who to turn to, I just knew I didn’t really want to exist anymore.

All my life I’ve been a planner with a lot of imagination. I could see my future in hundreds of varieties — singer, fashion designer, forensic scientist, politician, real estate agent, journalist, writer. All of them were there, possibilities. But none of them felt right. I loved them, but I couldn’t see myself doing them.

Then at some point I realized I couldn’t see myself graduating high school. Because I didn’t think I could fight that long. I didn’t see how I could deal with this every day for seven years and make it through high school. I barely made it through middle school, so how was I supposed to top that? If fifth grade had me planning an overdose, how was I going to make it to graduation? To college? To adulthood? What was the point of all these plans and all this effort if…I wasn’t going anywhere?

This theory of mine didn’t just end when I did make it to high school. I remember being 15, 16, and wondering why I bothered. Did it matter if I impressed colleges if I wasn’t going to be alive when the acceptance letters came? I kept pushing because I needed options and I needed everyone to think I was okay. At least in real life, anyway. By now, I knew that yes, I did have depression and I was beginning to open up about that a little bit online. But just a little. I didn’t want to scare away my new community from liking me.

I graduated high school. It was a pretty miserable blur of heat and sweat and sitting next to some kids I barely knew and wishing it would just rain and end the horrid humidity in the oversized gym. I read ten acceptance letters and said yes to one. I did it, I made it to graduation. I had a new career goal. I was pulling myself together.

But that summer, I was sure I’d never see college graduation. I was lonely, most of my friendships having drifted off during senior year. I was tired. I wasn’t excited about where I was going because it was actually everything I hadn’t wanted for myself, but it was the most logical option. Would I make it to 20? I wasn’t convinced.

I turned 21 in November. I graduate college in June. I only have vague ideas of what comes next, but I want the opportunity to find out what will end up happening. I’m still not doing all that great and I still feel lonely and sad and tired. But I’m here. I lived past twenty. And if I hadn’t, I never would’ve gotten to listen to Hamilton and I never would’ve been reminded that living this long can be something to celebrate.