Over a month ago I wrote this post, and it started out like this:
I haven’t been writing here because I’m going through this thing where I want to say everything, and in the background where you can’t see, I’m writing everything down, but they are mostly ugly things that no one should ever have to see.
I am broken. I’m starting to think that I’ve been broken on the inside for a really long time, only now it’s starting to show. I can’t hide it anymore.
So basically, I stopped showing it. Or at least, I stopped showing the truth, although on a new website I made, you can find some truth through fiction.
I realize that when I wrote that I was going through an incredible amount of stress. Brian moved away, which was terrible, but besides that, I felt the relationships with two of my closest friends changing, and changing to something that I am still not sure will work out the way I need friendships to work out to be able to keep them. In all, I’ve been very alone lately, and not exactly alone because of it.
The truth is, I am just so fed up with the world right now. I’m fed up with the people in it, I’m fed up with allowing myself to continue to do things that don’t make me happy, and I suppose more than anything I’m fed up with trying to be what I think the world wants or needs me to be, when all I want to be is myself.. and isn’t that just the hardest thing in the world, anyway?
I find that I just keep saying to myself lately: “I’m too old old for this shit.”
Maybe I am. 30 hit me hard and is wearing on me in ways that I didn’t expect. Everyone tells me to get over it, don’t worry about it, age is just a number, blah blah blah.. And they are right and they aren’t. I suppose that aging is a different process for everyone, and everyone feels differently about it. For some, turning another year older is not a big deal, because really, the date of ones birth is just a day among other days in a week or month. It’s not technically life changing. But a birthday is also a reminder of the scope of things we have going on in this world. It’s something we check off on our calendar, just like all of the other days, except checking off my birthday is me checking off another one of MY YEARS alive. I’ve had thirty of them. If I am lucky, I will have sixty more of them. I would be happy with another thirty but I think I know already that I want there to be more than that. Birthdays, to me, are about more than celebration – they’re about facing my mortality, and it gets harder every damn year, because now I really see myself aging. I see the wrinkles in my forehead that don’t go away even when I stop smiling, the gray in my hair that won’t hold boxed dye anymore, the way I limp around for the first ten minutes every day because knees and back are so stiff in the mornings.
Anyway, I’m getting distracted by the OLD.
I had a revelation the other night, regarding all of the problems lately I’ve had with “friends” and friends of friends that bother me so. All I had to do was look backwards and things became more clear.
Twenty years have gone by since Steph and Beth and I became friends at Salem Elementary. There have been times when we’ve been mad at each other and fought and grown apart and haven’t spoken, but I know at 30 what I knew at 10 years old – that I love them and I will always hold them in my heart, and for some friendships things like time and distance never matter. Which led me to the conclusion that I have to let all of this shit go. I can’t go on caring whether people like me, why or why not. I can’t go on pretending to enjoy the company of people I dislike. I can’t measure my worth in whether or not I’m alone most nights of the week. I know what matters. I know who matters. That’s what matters most.
In twenty years, I might remember the names of the people who hurt or wronged me at 30, but I probably won’t remember the reasons why, and I certainly won’t remember all of the wasted moments I’ve been spending worrying about people who, in the end, don’t matter to me and my life.
So I’m making a commitment to myself: to be honest about how I feel. To be unapologetically me. To stop being polite because “it’s the right/nice thing to do.” To choose happiness whenever I can. To not wasting any more of my precious, precious time.