Here I am. An adult. Maybe not wise or experienced or old. Maybe just beginning, just blooming, fresh and new. It’s my transition, my mini-metamorphosis. I am…even uglier and more socially awkward now.
It may have been coming for some time, or it may have just hit me, but the realization that I am stuck in the middle of two very different maturity complexes, and that neither appeals to me, hit me like a ton of bricks just today. In the last two hours and whatever minutes of me having turned eighteen.
It’s one of those things where you wonder where the hell you’re supposed to go now. You can’t go down, because you have already been far too affected by the drama and immaturity of these people who say that they love you but only seek to get a rise out of you. You don’t want to go up.
God, you would give anything to not go up. The realization that you now have hard decisions to make, a future to settle on, a job to get, a career to build…it’s fucking scary. Who wants that? Who even has it all planned out and sorted and mapped?
You’re still clinging onto those things that are familiar and warm, like a safety net. Those things that you have grown accustomed to over the years…the very things that are now holding you back.
It’s so hard to let go. It’s so hard to dive off the deep end without checking how deep the water really is, fearing every second that you are going to hit rock bottom.
So, in the weeks leading up to my eighteenth birthday, though I talked a big game and walked like a pro, I began clinging closer to things that would hurt me. The things that, like roses, looked beautiful, but would only puncture my fragile new skin of adulthood and send me spiralling back down into the fires of post-adolescence.
Last night, and this morning, strangely enough, my heart let go of some of these things. It quickly severed ties to things I thought I needed, and, instead of falling, I’m simply drifting as I was before, but slower now, without the hectic and frantic scrabble for an edge, a tree, to hold onto.
Because the fact of the matter is, it’s not always you panicking. It’s not always you reaching out for safety. It’s the ones clinging to you, needing you. They make you feel insecure, without a paddle. And this will continue to happen, if you let it.
So, I say I’m not going to let it. I don’t have a plan for my future. I’m scared, I’m growing up, I’m tired, I’m desperate, shaky, and a little excited.
I don’t have a path I have to follow, and, though following the ones of others would be easier, I’m choosing to forge my own and see where it goes.
I had my party. I ate my cake. I celebrated, and now it’s time to move on. Thank you for your continual support, lovelies. I don’t know who else I could vent to.