And it’s been years and years and years.
I make 11:11 wishes almost every day.
For the past few years, my 11:11 wish has been the same.
Until it came true one night inside a Walmart.
After that night, the next 11:11 came around, and it took me maybe ten seconds to think of a new wish.
I was working on my novel at the time, and it was nearing what I believed to be the end. My wish for that night was for someone to see its potential and publish it.
I didn’t finish that novel for almost a year, and I’d been working on it for several years prior.
When I wasn’t making the same, deep, personal wish, I had spent this year and a few 11:11’s before wishing for this novel to be published. I knew I couldn’t just will it into existence (though that would be the dream, wouldn’t it?), but it was my baby, and I put all my faith in it. So, I wished.
The novel will be released this upcoming summer.
A publishing company picked up on it (after a myriad of rejections, which I handled like a champ), and decided it was one of the books they wanted to publish next year.
I cried and cried, mainly because this book means the absolute world to me, and now people were going to get the chance to read it.
But this led me to my next 11:11. And when it finally came around, I didn’t have anything to wish for.
I typically use my 11:11’s for my own personal wishes, and it felt weird not to have one. I didn’t end up thinking of any that night.
But I’m not here to talk about not having an 11:11 wish.
I’m trying (because I’ve been desperately wanting to put it into words) to talk about what happens when a wish or a dream comes true.
I’ve had severe depression for many years now.
This is something that has absolutely become an enormous part of me and my life, and I’ve been okay with talking about it for a while.
Earlier this year, I had a very dramatic life change. I dropped out of college abruptly, moved to another state, got a new job, started at a new school, and began weeks and weeks of intensive…