Journal Entry **Where do you see yourself in 10 years?** It’s the kind of thing parents ask at dinner or teachers throw into a class discussion, like it’s the question of life or some kind of measure of how well you’re doing in life. They always seem so concerned with it, with the future. Maybe it’s because they know they might not always be here. Maybe they ask because if _they_ don’t make it to the future, they want to believe _you_ will. And that you’ll have a plan. See, I never thought too far ahead. I always stopped at five years—no more, no less. I’ve had a five-year plan since I was like… eleven or twelve. It changed over time, of course, but I _always_ had one. I liked knowing what came next. Finish middle school. Finish high school. Graduate. Move out of my parents’ house. Go to university. Make friends. Live a little. Graduate as a nurse. Get my own place. Work in pediatrics. Step by step. I loved it. Honestly, one of my favorite things has always been knowing. Just knowing. Anything and everything—whether it was useful or not, whether I’d forget it later or not. It wasn’t about being nosy. It was about the comfort that knowing gave me. Maybe that’s part of my overthinking, or maybe it’s just my brain searching for peace in the form of certainty. And that’s why this part of my life has been hard. Because I don’t know anymore. A year and a half ago? You could’ve asked me my five-year plan or even my ten-year plan and I would’ve had it memorized like the back of my hand. But now? I’ve got nothing. I’ve been floating, untethered. And it’s terrifying, because not knowing, especially about my own life...is the thing I fear most. Maybe that’s why I started therapy. Because I didn’t know anymore. And I was scared that if I slipped again, if I fell into that same pit of depression I once had to claw myself out of, I wouldn’t have anything to grab onto this time. Before, even in my darkest moments, I had goals. Dreams. Plans. And that’s what kept me going. That’s what got me out of bed. But now? I can’t even picture my future. And somewhere in my mind, that starts to feel like maybe I don’t _have_ one. And if I don’t have one… then what’s the point of fighting the demons? Who am I fighting _for_? Myself? I don’t even know who that is anymore. And don't get me wrong i still have ambition i have plans that i want to do but i need structure. And no, it wasn’t _just_ about me. It was for my siblings too. But… that’s a story for another day. Right now, I just… don’t have a plan. Not a ten-year one. Not a five-year one. Not even a one-year one. And I hate that. I hate it so much. Because not knowing feels like drowning. And I just want to breathe again.