Spending far too much time on Pinterest last I night, I caught sight of a peers board dubbed ’30th birthday planning’. And with that sight my chest constricted tightly, lungs burned with need for air as it suddenly became inadequately supplied. My palms, clammy as I reached for a brown paper bag to hyperventilate into.
How is it that this dreadful number looms? I mean literally hovers?
How did this happen?
And most importantly why?
Oh why can’t we freeze time? Just pause at this very moment? A perpetual Groundhog Day would be most welcome. Vampires? Never have I prayed for their existence more than I do right now. Where can I find one Maria so I can plead to be made into a fellow immortal being; one that will never age. I don’t want to grow old and I certainly do not want to be remotely associated with that number either.
When I delve deeper, I don’t actually feel like I am that old. Honestly, most times I can’t even remember how old I really am. I keep informing people I’m in my mid twenties and maybe I pass for it? Then again my powers of persuasion are potent considering I believe what I preach.
On a serious note, I just can’t be at that junction because I am not ready to proceed.
But that’s the thing about time, he is not our friend. He once was but then suddenly morphs into this menacing super evil. He becomes our rival nemeses, determined to outdo us by speeding up with unnecessary haste. How has he not got the memo that we are not competing? That we want to walk with him, hand in hand at a frivolous, somewhat leisurely pace? Why must he be such a c***?
I think my grievances lie in my placement in the world and how misplaced I feel slash am. And though financial freedom finally came knocking, I still find myself stuck and that in itself is a cause of incredible anxiety. These feelings of being such a failure are overwhelming. “I’m a starving artist” is a tired excuse to spout to anyone who’ll listen or those who I feel judge with grave intent. Then again most people don’t even realise that I am in fact pursing such things.
This paranoia is draining my being. It’s bringing about unnecessary pain and sadness. I want to be happy, to be truly grateful for the gift the universe gave me some weeks ago but all I see ahead of me are two intimidating numbers which threaten to destroy me entirely.
I can not have nothing to look forward too; to not have a future period.
I can not go back to being that girl who used to judge and shame for the sake of friendships. I also can not become that spinster who lives with her parents. A loner with no family, no friends; no one. I can not continue down this path of extreme paranoia and worry. Of needing to retreat and hibernate in fear of seeing people. People who judge and point fingers, the ones who sit there looking down at me, mocking me as they sit atop their thrones, perched in their castles high above the clouds, deriding me. “What a sad and lame excuse for a human”, they say, “karma’s a bitch”.
I need to have something physical to prove my existence and worth, not just for them but for myself. I need a tangible accomplishment, like I’d made something worthwhile from my time here on this Earth. Maybe like a home? Yes, to have my own place would be a beautiful start. Because I’ll never be that person who notched countless courtship’s or one night stands in her twenties. I’ll never see an engagement or even a wedding before I turn thirty. I won’t even be able to proudly proclaim my love for another too, nor have another feel the same way.
My twenties will forever be cemented as a time of great pain, loneliness and struggle. How is it that I stumbled across such a rocky detour and in the process become so distracted that I’ve inevitably missed out on important life events? Not even had a mere taste? It’s just another period in my life I’d rather have obliterated from memory.
I’ve been invisible all this time and I fear that I will forever remain so.
I have nothing right now and that is alarming. There are no grand travel adventures nor are there career moves to note in my future. And speaking of a future, I can’t even see what lays ahead but my instinct tells me it’s all barren.