It’s been seven days since my birthday, and since then, I haven’t touched my birthday messages, I’ve had a near heart attack due to the discovery of a strand of white hair, and panic because of a friend’s comment that there are fine fine signs of aging on my skin.
Hello, twenty six.
I’m too young for the onset of these, or even if it’s just the right age when time become more apparent on the face, it still sucks. I was comparing stress dreams with a friend and learned that there can actually be levels to these things. Level one finds her taking an exam, level two finds her with a baby in her arms that she has to take care of (which is ridiculous and funny), and level three places her in a world without sun (where everything is just faintly perceivable like when your eyes adjust to a dark room). Her worst dream yet was when she found herself taking an exam in a world without the sun. My stress dreams find me looking inside the mirror and seeing myself, but with so much white hair. The other week, not only was there white hair, but a bald patch. Que horror!
The strand of white hair, fine lines… they are a blunt reminders of my mortality. Time is passing, and passing quickly. My body is reaching its peak, and just like flowers in bloom, their best is followed only by visible decay. Like the rest of humanity, I am dying. We’ve all known this for a while, but I’ve never felt such a poignant shortness of life until recently.
I’m only a breath, a wave tossed in the ocean. Can You make this vapor count? Could you remember me, and make me count where it matters?
I’ve been avoiding you for weeks, even if it’s killing me. I say that I love you, but my actions don’t show it. I’m not mad at you (I don’t think so, anyway), but I keep ignoring you, even if it’s the worst thing to do right now.
Without you, everything is grey, and everyone doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I need you now, more than ever. I’m thirsting for water, but drinking the poison. I’ve seen people nearly every single day of this exhausting week, but because you’re not there, these are even lonelier days. Because you’re not there, it’s also easier to be sick of everyone else. I just don’t want to be with people, not like this. I keep searching for a high, for something to distract me with its complexity or humor or pleasure, but I’m running out of shows and stories, I’m losing myself.
I miss you, and a part of me thinks that it’s better if you just give up and let me go. You don’t need me. My being a part of you so far is more liability than asset. More ugliness than beauty, and sadness instead of light.
If I could get into a relationship with someone, that would be great. But maybe you don’t want that to happen. Why is there nobody? Yet even if there were, it could be even lonelier, because without you, I’m destroyed. I fade into nothingness. Everything is empty and despicable, without you.
But even in knowing these things, what do I do? Am I too weak? Too lacking in conviction? Too angry? Too I Don’t Know What to turn back to you, because you’re still there, waiting for me, giving me heartbeats, and breaths, and time.
Please help me get out of this hell. Please help me believe that even if the things I want to happen don’t happen the way I want them to, that it’s already okay (and more than okay). Please help me to remember hope, to hope again, and to trust in the way things are unfolding because the light in the distance can be seen, can be held onto.
Even if I’m only a breath, can you make it more beautiful than it can ever dream of becoming?