Why I Don’t Regret My Life

I’ve had a complicated life, but I don’t regret it.

For years I lived inside psychosis, instability, and a kind of emotional turbulence that’s hard to explain unless you’ve been there. I lost time, whole seasons of my life disappearing into confusion and survival mode. There were stretches that felt like being abandoned inside my own mind — “the bitterness of one who’s left alone,” that sharp, aching solitude where you’re aware enough to feel the pain but not stable enough to escape it. It didn’t feel like a detour. It felt like being thrown off the map entirely, and none of it was something I chose.

But getting through those years didn’t leave me empty. It left me different in ways that matter. I came out of it with a resilience that isn’t theoretical — the kind you earn by having to hold yourself together when everything feels like it’s slipping. I gained a deeper awareness of my mind, my emotional patterns, and the early signs of when things start to shift. And I developed the kind of adaptive problem-solving that disabled people learn out of necessity — the ability to navigate systems that aren’t built for us, to work around limitations, to find angles and solutions that other people never have to consider. None of this cancels out the pain I went through, but it does mean I didn’t come out the other side unchanged. I learned how to live with myself, how to move forward carefully, and how to build stability piece by piece.

Today I’m studying music, rebuilding my life, and choosing things that matter to me. I’m moving forward with a sense of purpose I didn’t have before, and I don’t take it for granted.

I don’t regret my life because it made me who I am, and who I am is more than I could have imagined.