Sat here, a little lonely; trying to plan the next big move that makes life more meaningful, but coming up empty. I’ve felt a lot of things in my life, in fact, I pride myself on being sensitive enough to accept them, but this one’s a little alien and I’ve identified it as defeat.
Let’s back up for a moment, and picture this. A 14-year old girl; a casualty of her own self-deprecating thoughts, put in a terrible situation with people around her; tainted by sadness, what does she want to be when she grows up? In one word: Happy. Fast-forward 11 years, the future is still bleak, heartbreak now is exactly like the heartbreak then, friends that left, still haven’t found their way back.
So defeat it is. Now it all makes sense, right? That’s the thing about growing up, we think that its a magical place where all’s well and all’s right; a fairytale land that always seems too far ahead. I thought that too; but, between all the late nights I carelessly let go; sometimes with a little too much work and others with a little too much whiskey, I’m struck by this realisation that life’s not what I wanted it to be at 25.
When you’re young, all you have is your imagination to keep you close to your dreams. As an adult with all the means to ‘make it happen’, I still seem to fall short. My imagination no longer cuts it, I can’t just dream a life I want for myself, I must live it. I’m not even sure if I get in the way of life or life gets in my way; but for now its a mutually destructive relationship.
I can almost hear you say, “you’re too young to feel that way.” But, I do feel like I’ve defeated myself and that 14 year old who believed she would have the life she wanted by now. Back then, I hadn’t made as many mistakes, I had known loss but never lived it, I had touched sadness, but hadn’t felt it. With all that said, I also envy her. She had hope, she had a sense of reassurance from her future, like she could almost taste the victory of what awaited her. I’d give anything to feel that way now.
And I know I’m not the only one who regrets the things she’s done. And I know I’m not the only one in the world who has looked at her reflection and hated every inch of it. I get that; believe it or not, I understand that there’s a big picture with ups & downs. I just can no longer accept that that’s it.
It seems as if I’ve read every chapter over and over again, some regrettably more than the others, waiting for the big reveal. Praying that it lives up to my fantasy. I can no longer function without knowing how my story ends. Whether I get the guy or the aspiring career? Whether I finally make amends with people I hurt, or they come back seeking redemption?
I’ve watched my life flash before my eyes far too many times, the persistent heaviness in my heart prevails, feeling exactly like the 14 year old who sought after her future with fear and fearlessness all at once. I don’t think I have her big heart, or the passion to fight off anything the world throws at me. The only thing I’ve got is a desperate desire to fight defeat.
I could sit here and go on forever. I know there’s so much I have to say, so many words I haven’t written yet, some I haven’t even learned. But something tells me, I’ll be back for more because the story never really ends, does it?
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