Facing Adulthood: My Journey Towards Turning 18

🧠 Main Idea

Coming to terms with turning 18 and the anxiety, pressure, and existential spiral that comes with it.

📝 Context

This is a personal reflection on what it means to grow up, emotionally and mentally, as I approach one of life’s most loaded milestones.

It started innocently filling out a form online. I typed "16" without thinking. Then the field auto-corrected me: What's your current age? That’s when it hit me. I’m not 16 anymore. I’m almost 18. And with that realization came a flood of panic: When did time speed up? Why do I still feel like a kid pretending to be older?

That moment broke something open. Adulthood wasn’t a far-off concept anymore it was knocking at the door, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to answer.

[[living-with-anxiety|The Anxiety and Panic]]

Since that moment, the idea of turning 18 has been a constant source of anxiety. Some days it’s a dull ache in the background. Other days, it slams into me like a wave tight chest, racing thoughts, the kind of spiraling that makes it hard to breathe. I’ve had nights where sleep isn’t even an option just me vs. my brain in an endless loop of What if I’m not ready? What if I mess everything up?

I try to stay distracted routines, talking to people, doing the work but the thought always comes back. Turning 18 feels like a deadline I’m not prepared for.

Comparing with Friends

I’ve brought it up in conversation, hoping to hear someone say, Yeah, me too. But most of my friends seem chill about it. They’re talking about university plans and moving out like it’s just another box to check. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there wondering if I’m broken for feeling this overwhelmed.

That comparison makes it worse. It’s like I’m the only one stuck in the in-between too old to be carefree, too young to feel grounded.

The Existential Crisis

It’s not just about age it’s about identity. Who am I becoming? What’s the point of all this? Am I chasing the right goals, or just running in place because I’m scared to stand still?

Turning 18 triggered something deeper: a full-blown existential audit. I’ve started journaling again trying to put the mess in my head into something I can actually look at. Sometimes the words help. Sometimes they don’t. But at least it feels like movement.

What I'm Trying to Do

I’m not going to pretend I’ve got the answers. But I’m trying. I’m learning how to sit with the discomfort instead of running from it. I’m talking to people I trust. Reading more. Trying mindfulness even if my mind fights it the whole way.

I’m giving myself permission to not have it all figured out. That feels radical enough for now.

A Personal Commitment

This post isn't just a diary entry; it's a commitment to myself. I promise to document this journey—my fears, my breakthroughs, and everything in between. Once I finally cross that threshold into adulthood, I'll come back to update this post, sharing what I learned along the way and how I managed to cope with one of the most nerve-wracking transitions of my life.

As I write this, the weight of the future is both heavy and uncertain, but I also know that every journey begins with a single step. I hope that by sharing my story, I can not only ease my own mind but also reach out to others who might be feeling the same way. We're all on this unpredictable path together, and perhaps in time, I'll learn that adulthood isn't about perfection—it's about growth, learning, and accepting every part of who we are.

June Check-In: Time Is Moving Too Fast

It’s the beginning of June. At the end of this month, I turn 18. Just writing that makes my chest tighten. The closer the day gets, the more the anxiety builds. It’s not fading—it’s stacking. Every day feels like a countdown, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with it.

I was watching a random video from 2023 the other night, and it hit me like a punch: That was almost two years ago. It felt like just a few months back. These past two years—startup chaos, internships, trying to “build something”—they flew by faster than anything I’ve ever experienced. And now I’m here, staring down the end of my teenage years, wondering if I missed it all while chasing the future.

I regret not being more present. I was either lost in memories or obsessing over what’s next. Never just... here. I feel like I blinked and high school, childhood, all of it disappeared behind me.

Now adulthood is the next thing on the calendar, and I don’t feel ready. Not emotionally. Not mentally. Not in that quiet, soul-deep way where you know you’re grounded.

I don’t have a neat takeaway yet. I’m still anxious. Still spiraling. But this is me, checking in—trying to stay honest with myself as the milestone looms.

When the Days Start to Blur

Lately, it’s been hard. Not in a “just a bad mood” kind of way—more like my brain’s stuck in this low, buzzing panic that never turns off. Everyone talks about birthdays like they’re supposed to be a celebration, something to look forward to. But all I can think is: I’m one year closer to the end. One year closer to death. And I know how that sounds. Morbid. Cynical. But it’s where my mind goes, and I can’t seem to steer it anywhere else.

That’s why I’ve never really celebrated my birthdays. I can’t pretend it feels like a happy milestone when my whole body’s tensing up at the thought of time slipping away.

This past week, even getting out of bed has felt like too much. I’m exhausted, but not in the way that sleep fixes. It’s like I want to sleep just to escape being awake. I wake up feeling heavy. My body works, but my brain feels offline. I keep thinking, What if I just didn’t wake up? Not in a dramatic, attention-seeking way. Just... quiet. Like I could finally rest.

I know I’m supposed to be reflecting, finding meaning, or coping. But right now? I’m just trying to breathe. Trying to stay here, even when everything inside me wants to disappear.

3 Days Left: The Breakdown Hits

Three days. That number’s been stuck in my head all day. Three days to adulthood. Three days to 18. It’s weird to even see it written down like that. Feels unreal. Feels terrifying.

I thought maybe, by now, I’d be calmer. Or at least numb. But today? Today was the opposite. Full-blown breakdown. Couldn’t hold it together. Two panic attacks, back to back. My brain’s been in overdrive since I woke up, and it only got worse the more I thought about it.

It’s like the countdown isn’t just ticking quietly in the background anymore. It’s screaming. Every second feels heavier. Every little reminder that I’m about to turn 18 just tightens that grip on my chest.

And I hate it. Not the number. Not even the day itself… it’s the pressure. The expectations. The terrifying idea that in three days, I’m supposed to be something different. More capable. More adult. More ready. But I’m not. I feel stuck. Frozen. So caught in this anxiety spiral that I couldn’t focus on anything else today. Work? Impossible. Relaxing? A joke. It’s just been me vs. my brain, all day long.

And the worst part? I don’t even know how to feel about any of it. I want to feel numb. I want to be detached from all of this. But I can’t. I feel everything, all at once, and it’s exhausting.

Honestly? If I could, I’d just sleep through the next three days. Crawl into bed, shut my brain off, and wake up when it’s all over. I don’t want to feel this countdown. I don’t want to spiral. I just want quiet. Sleep. Three days of sleep.

I don’t know what’s going to happen after my birthday. I don’t know if I’ll feel different, or worse, or maybe… nothing at all. But I promised I’d document this. So I will. I’ll update this. I’ll try to publish it on my birthday. No matter how messy or unfinished it feels. That’s the commitment I made to myself.

Three days left. And I’m still here. Barely. But I’m here.

The Day After: When Life Doesn’t Let You Celebrate

So… here it is. The update I promised. The one for after my birthday. I thought maybe this would feel like some kind of closure. Or at least, a breath. But honestly? It doesn’t. It feels… heavy. Complicated. Messy in a way I can’t untangle.

My birthday started how I expected it would. I stayed up working, like always, half-distracted, half-dreading the clock. Midnight hit. And then… the calls started. The messages. So many people reaching out. More than I ever expected. It’s funny… I’ve always told people I hate putting my birthday on social media. I don’t want the performative attention. But this? The quiet, personal messages? It actually meant something. So to everyone who took the time… thank you. Really. I didn’t think it would matter, but it did.

After that… I crashed. Finally slept. But when I woke up? The unease was still there. Like my body remembered it was supposed to be anxious even if my brain was pretending to enjoy the day.

The afternoon blurred. Some acquaintances invited me to a hotel party. I didn’t really want to go, but I went. Maybe part of me thought distraction would help. It didn’t. The whole time, I felt off. Like I was just… stuck there. Stuck in my own head. Smiling. Talking. Existing. But not really being there. That lasted till 8. I left feeling emptier than when I arrived.

And then… life decided to twist the knife.

I got home. I got the news.

One of my mutuals… my Irish friend… gone. Found dead in his apartment.

It didn’t even feel real when I heard it. One of our western mutuals messaged me, saying what happened. And honestly? I thought it was a joke. That dark, messed-up kind of humor people pull sometimes. So I replied the same way… brushing it off, playing along. But then… I tried to message him. No reply.

That’s when it hit me. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t some cruel prank. It was real.

Five days. That’s how long it’s been. Five days of grief that doesn’t know where to sit. Five days of my brain spiraling… What did I do wrong? Could I have done something? Is it my fault? I don’t know. I can’t answer that. Our friend group… it was messy. Toxic, even. Not in the obvious, in-your-face way. But in that quiet, complicated way where the group chat is full of jokes at your expense, but one-on-one? They’re good people. It’s weird like that. You can talk to any of them privately, and they’re chill. But together? It turns toxic fast.

And now… I can’t stop wondering. Was that part of it? Was that why he didn’t tell us? Did he feel like he couldn’t? I don’t know. I keep going over it in my head, trying to find the moment… the sign… the clue I missed.

The worst part? I talked to him yesterday. He was… happy. Happier than he’s ever seemed. You know that eerie kind of happy? The one that doesn’t make sense in hindsight. That was him.

It still doesn’t feel real. Part of me keeps thinking it’s some sick cosmic joke. Like he’s up there, watching, laughing, saying “Got you.” But I know that’s not how this works. I know where this ends.

And what does it mean? That I was out there, pretending to celebrate my birthday… while he… while he was gone?

I’ve barely told anyone. It feels weird even saying it now. It’s like those days right after it happened… everything slowed down, but the world kept going. I’ve been trying to work, to distract myself, but it all feels… empty. Dumb. Like I’m just going through the motions.

And then the anger creeps in. At myself. For not seeing it. For not helping. For surviving the same dark place he couldn’t. He taught me so much. About life. About everything. He wasn’t even doing bad, you know? He built stuff. He had plans. He was doing well… at least, that’s how it looked.

And now… nothing. Just this empty space where he’s supposed to be. And my anxiety? Worse than ever. Like this was the final shove into the deep end.

It was truly unexpected. Cruel. Unfair. And I don’t know how to process any of it.

I don’t have a takeaway. I don’t have closure. Just this ache. And the unbearable question of what could’ve been different.

Facing Adulthood at 18: Anxiety,