I don't want to do this anymore.
I do not want to sit around for 4 hours not doing anything. Worrying about things that need to be done. Things that I should be doing instead of staring at nothing.
I don't want to hop up and rush through the rest of my day stressed that there's not enough hours left in the day. You know, to do the things that need doing.
Anxiety and Depression are real motherfuckers. I've been a quiet storm, brewing for far too long now.
So, this is a thing. A thing I'm going to do because I need something to do, and I tend to have a lot of things to say.
I've been thinking a lot about age and time lately. Maybe it's the impeding 30th birthday. Which, by the way, is going to be incredible and not at all the aging wasteland I'm trying to make it. I mean, for god's sake, my boyfriend is taking me on vacation to California. We're going to see the mother-flipping Yeah Yeah Yeahs and LCD Soundsystem at the Hollywood Bowl. And we're not in the nose-bleeds. I get to see my dad. I get to breathe in the salty air and dip my toes in the ocean. I am craving the Pacific.
I'm weird about my birthday. I wish I weren't. But, it's the reality. I can't even explain it. But the number 30 is just hanging out there, coming closer, and it's freaking me the hell out. My life has been a hot-mess spiral for almost two years now. All because of this stupid number that means nothing. Because I could live to be 30 or 100, and it's all relative to how you lived in the first place. But that's the thing: I'm not who I thought I would be at this point in my life. The expectation is hanging out there and I'm going to disappoint myself every year on my birthday for the rest of my life.
I let my hot-mess of a life get in the way of a good job with co-workers I cherish. Through the lens of disappointment, you start to find it everywhere. I was disappointed by so many expectations that my workplace wasn't living up to, and I couldn't see the good at the end of an 8 hour day. The customers and the business practices and the inability to enact effective change. It all became unbearable.
Now, the hard part. The elephant-in-the-room. I let my hot-mess get in the way of a relationship I thought was ever-lasting. Don't get me wrong, it's not anyone's fault that it failed. It's just...I couldn't have let it just be a good thing. I didn't nurture it where I should have. I didn't let it go when it became a chore. I became a bad girlfriend, and didn't have the guts to let him go be happy somewhere else until it was dangerously close to destroying both of our minds and hearts.
I tried apologizing recently, and I found out that I lack grace. I knew that when I said the words "I'm sorry," a very real-possibility was going to be hearing why I had to say sorry in the first place. That was even harder than the apology. And I don't apologize for very much. It's admittedly, a character flaw. It broke my heart all over again, and I couldn't even finish what needed to be said the most. Honestly, it's probably for the best. No reason to drag things back to the forefront that are best forgotten with time.
And look, I wish him happiness. It's all I ever wanted for him. But, like a wish, I want it to evaporate and I never want to hear about it again. Does that make me awful? I already know it does. It's just, I couldn't do anything to persuade him to be happy, so why the fuck should I have to hear about how my being gone was probably the key?
Because that's what people with grace do, and I've already admitted it's what I lack.
But that's going to change. My 30th birthday is going to rock. I'm going to find a job doing something I can stomach all day. I'm going to love the current boyfriend to a uncomfortable degree, because I have no poker-face, and he's already seen it in my eyes. I'm going to reach out to friends when I think of them. I'm going to make plans and keep them. I'm going to practice writing and music and get better at it. I'm going to eat right and exercise because being debilitated by my back at 30 is not going to be a thing. I'm going to take every punch and come back stronger.
Honestly, what's the fucking alternative?
A California girl raised with Southern charm and manners, still trying to find a place to plant my roots. A twisted insomniac whiling away the hours in the company of my cat sidekick, Humphrey; fingers thumbing through a good book, at the ready on my Playstation controller, or furiously tapping into the dark recesses of the internet. Baker-extraordinaire, seasoned-bookworm, social-commentator, and exceedingly neurotic individual.
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I don't want to do this anymore. I do not want to sit around for 4 hours not doing anything. Worrying about things that need to be d...