10/28/08

I still can’t imagine a future with myself in it.

I never planned to live this long.  I was supposed to die before I graduated high school.  Now, in my fourth year of college, I often find myself at a loss, terrified of the years before me.  What am I supposed to do?

Who am I, really?  I am a child.  I am emotionally stunted at 15, screaming and screaming inside this metaphorical room while the metaphorical onlookers ignore me completely. 

"Fear of the future, the best years behind you."

And that’s me.  The best years ARE behind me.  I was brilliant, you know.  I was a musical prodigy, I was a genius.  I was gifted and talented and oh-so fucking special.  So fucking special.  But I wasn’t REAL, none of that is.  None of it’s important at all, because it doesn’t even matter.  All I can see is degeneration.  And the pervasive feeling that I am, really, too old for this.  Too old for all of it.  Too old to feel like this anymore.

Because they said it would stop.  The promised me it would, that it was a teenager thing and someday I would get over it and everything would be alright again.  But it was never alright at all.  And I always knew THAT, at least.  But I hoped, I really did, that someday it would just end.

Today, it has been exactly 10 years since the first time I cut myself.  Ten fucking years wasted while I waited for it to go away because they promised me it would. 

Ten years I can never get back.