Glad to be alive
My 50th birthday
I came on a hot spring trip for my birthday.
I think the saying "memories over things"
is well put.
In the past, for my birthday,
I wanted something brand-name.
But for my 50th birthday this year, what I wanted
wasn't a thing for some reason.
I wanted to go on a trip.
Moreover, I felt a strong desire to see Mount Fuji.
What has changed, what has remained the same
A long 5-hour drive.
What has changed since I was young is that
I get nervous right after leaving
and have to stop for bathroom breaks many times. Haha
In the car,
we sang Showa and Heisei songs non-stop,
and before I knew it,
we had driven past our exit.
It seems like I've changed from the past,
but actually, I haven't changed that much.
Returning to myself,
that was the feeling of the journey.
Things I remembered at the hot spring
In a calm room,
I ate delicious food,
and soaked in the room's hot spring.
While in the bathtub,
I vaguely remembered everything up until now.
In my early 20s,
when my eldest daughter was still 3 years old,
I was diagnosed with panic disorder and anxiety neurosis.
When I remember that time,
I still get a feeling of my throat being tightly constricted.
Sudden breathlessness,
the switch flipped from nausea,
and intense palpitations that felt like my heart would jump out.
Things I could do normally until yesterday
started becoming impossible one by one from that day on.
I thought I had broken.
Every single day I would scream,
"Someone please, help me."
Even so, I have lived on.
While dealing with panic,
I raised my children,
gave birth to my second child,
finished raising my children,
and now, I am living with menopause.
As I was remembering such things,
along with a big deep breath,
words came out naturally.
"Ah, I'm glad I'm alive."
Was it the little me who said it,
or was it the me of today?
Perhaps, now that the distance between the two of us has finally closed,
I think it was a word that came out at the same time.
And then, the Mount Fuji I saw on the morning of the third day.
For the first two days,
it was rainy and cloudy, and from nowhere
could Mount Fuji be seen at all.
"I guess we might not be able to see it after all,"
we said to each other
as we reached the morning of the day we were to return.
The moment I opened the curtains,
there it was,
in a sky without a single cloud,
a snow-capped,
powerful Mount Fuji standing there.
With a dignity that felt almost unapproachable,
and a quiet strength.
As I looked at that sight,
"You made it this far,"
I felt as if it were saying to me.
And one more thing.
"Don't you already know the truth?
That you are going to be okay."
It was as if Mount Fuji
was speaking to me in that way.
I will never forget
this scenery for the rest of my life.
It is no one else's life.
It is my life.
And
it will continue from here on out.