As I sit here on my bed at 21:09 (23:09); 51minutes until my 22nd year of life is over, I think to myself;
“where has the excitement gone?”
Surviving another year of life; the many ups and downs, the good and the bad; should be a celebratory affair, regardless of age. In a way, perhaps, somehow, the older one gets, the more celebratory each birthday should become; after all, the first few years and our final years are quite often, the hardest to live through.
Each year, the thought of a ‘birthday’ instills a sense of achievement within me. With every birthday that passes, I feel successful – I’ve managed to dodge Death; something that I, in a way, believe to be a victory. It’s not that I wish to challenge Death;
“why, hello Death, I have managed to evade your cold grasp yet again. Take that!”
No, challenging Death is not what I have in mind.
Shit.
This post isn’t meant to sound depressing, or formal. Am I sounding formal? If I am; sorry.
Listening to songs from High School Musical (1, 2 and 3), Jesse McCartney and the Backstreet Boys and about to begin my 23rd year of life, I wonder to myself;
“did I make the most of my 22nd year of life?”
Would you like my honest answer? Regardless of whether you want it or not, I’m going to give it to you.
No.
Why?
Because… I’ve spent the better part of it obsessing over something that, in retrospect, doesn’t deserve the level of passion, fixation and love that I’ve devoted to it. Too many hours of the days since the event have been devoted to trying to “mend” things. I’ve become obsessed; an unhealthy obsession, something along the lines of chocolate or deep friend food (with the advantage that instead of gaining weight, one often loses it – perhaps a direct result of the stress?). My unhealthy obsession (it is what it is, and although I am partially ashamed to admit it, I shall) has torn me up inside. Very few people know how I am truly feeling; how I hope that one day (soon), things will feel complete once again.
My 22nd year is almost over, and it is one that I will always remember. But not for the good reasons that I’d hoped to retain in my memory.
Am I making any sense?
Perhaps not. I suppose, in a way, this is just a post for myself; something I will (hopefully) read in the future.
I am not seeking your attention by acting ‘depressed’. I mean, aside from this insane fixation of mine, life has been… it hasn’t been horrible, just normal. Very normal.
I’m hoping that once I begin my 23rd year of life, in under half an hour, life will start to excite me again. I hope that in this new year of life, I will manage to find better ways to channel my sadness, anger and frustration; something healthy, something that does not involve confusion and hours of tears.
This year, I’d forgotten about my birthday. People kept reminding me. But it doesn’t feel the same on my own. I know, I have my friends; friends who love and care about me. But deep inside, I know that it’s just not the same. I appreciate everything my friends have done for me; however, sometimes (regardless of how selfish it may sound) friendship just isn’t the same, sometimes it isn’t enough.
Urgh.
I can’t be bothered finishing this post.
23:41 and all I can say is that I’m not excited that I’ve lived another year of life. I feel like I’ve wasted the better part of the year. Hopefully I won’t make the same mistake, ever again.
x.
