Forgiveness is a Two-Way Street
What I eventually learned from being the unequivocal villain in the biggest mistake of my life.
I met her when I was fourteen. For the purposes of this article, let’s call her Hanna. Back then, I was just starting out on my seven-year journey with mental illness. I’d been diagnosed with clinical depression (anxiety would come a year later), and was a frightened and lonely kid.
I was also quite withdrawn. Looking back, it’s almost as if I was a different person. I didn’t talk to anyone, I despised social media, I had maybe twenty contacts on my phone. I’m not saying I’ve turned into a bubbling socialite now, but I definitely used to be much more introverted.
Which made my predicament all the more grave. I had inside me an ocean of anger, sadness, bitterness, hopelessness. And I had nobody outside my family in whom to confide these emotions. They were more than supportive. They always have been. But I was fourteen and they were more than thrice that. After a certain point, one needs somebody in one’s own age bracket.
That somebody turned out to be Hanna. After our initial encounter, in which neither of us made eye contact, I returned home thinking she was intensely attractive and interesting. But I had no hopes of pursuing an acquaintance. Crippling…
