September felt like a season of storms—waves of emotions crashing before I could catch my breath. In the middle of heartache, fear, and exhaustion, I also found unexpected moments of truth and validation. For years, I carried the weight of being dismissed, unheard, and told it was “all in my head.” But this month, the tests finally spoke the words I’ve been saying all along. It is both terrifying and strangely comforting to finally be seen.

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So much—oh, so much—has happened this September, and I am on the verge of breaking down.

I’ve stopped pushing for closed captions on Twitch because my home life has completely taken over. It’s been one thing after another, nonstop, and this is a month I never want to relive. I’m writing this on September 26th, already dreading what next week might bring. Two doctor’s appointments are waiting for me, and while I have a sinking feeling about the results, I’m not ready to hear them. For years, I’ve said something was wrong. And now, finally, the tests are proving me right.

For so long, I was brushed aside, told it was nothing, told it was all in my head. But the tests don’t lie. For the first time, I am being validated.

And I’m in tears. I am drowning in anger, sadness, frustration, and the bitter taste of “I told you so.” I want to scream at everyone who ever dismissed me. I’ve been silenced and ignored since I was a teenager—13, maybe 14—when I first felt something was deeply wrong. I’ll never forget one day in particular: riding back from a school field trip, clutching my chest in searing pain. Someone told me I looked pale, and every breath felt like a knife stabbing me from the inside. The pain was unbearable—I could hardly breathe. When we got back to school, instead of being rushed to the hospital, I was just sent home on the bus. I sat there, terrified, convinced I was going to die. I remember the anger, the fear, the sadness—and the deep, crushing feeling of being unloved.

Episodes like that followed me into adulthood. Every primary doctor I saw (and I’ve had several, since I kept moving) assumed it was asthma.

But after moving to Illinois and finally having proper health insurance, I went to see a primary doctor for different reasons. At first, she laughed at one of my questions, asking if I was worried. I said no—it had become “normal” to me. But then, during another appointment, she noticed my heart rate and looked at me seriously: “This isn’t normal. Do you want me to refer you to a heart doctor?” My answer was an immediate, “YES. I want to know what’s going on.”

So off I went. Several tests have already shown problems, and next week I’ll get the full results. I’ve done my research, and I think I already know what’s coming. And it makes me furious, because with what I now understand, I realize I could have died all those years ago—yet I was ignored.

Not everything this month was dark, though. In the first two weeks, I reconnected with a dear friend I hold close to my heart. Just talking with him again brought back happy memories, and one day, I’d love to see him in person.

On September 8th, I quietly celebrated the belated birthday of Jonathan Taylor Thomas—someone who has always held a special place in my heart and memories. The very next day, I stepped into something deeply personal: my tattoo appointment. It wasn’t planned, but this piece carries so much meaning. I spent four hours under the needle, and though it’s not finished yet—I’ll be going back for the details and background—it already looks incredible on my right lower leg. That day, I did something powerful: I spoke aloud the name of the person who once had control over me, and in that moment, I took that power back. To him I say—your hold is gone. You no longer control me. I am stronger now.

The rest of the month blurred into appointments—some I kept, some I had to cancel because I was too exhausted. In the middle of all that, my grandcat, Cal was rushed to the ER. Thankfully, we caught the issue in time; otherwise, we might have lost him.

At the same time, I was juggling my own cat, Ash’s medications, transferring them from one company to another, which was a huge hassle but necessary.

Then, on September 25th, right after coming home from my echocardiogram, I received devastating news. A leader at my workplace—someone I admired deeply as a role model—passed away suddenly. As far as I knew, he had no health issues, so it was a complete shock.

And just minutes later, I got the alert with my echo results. The moment I opened them, my face went pale.

So now, my emotions are everywhere—a tangled mess of grief, fear, anger, and exhaustion. Right now, all I want is to be left alone.

Thank you for choosing my blog to read my journey