Life is difficult.
I recently turned 25. It seems a medium of an age, the one where you’re nearly fully faded from childhood to adulthood, stumbling innocence to stand-on-your-own-feet growth. But I don’t feel that way. I don’t have a real job. My grandkids will more than likely be paying my college loans back. Saving money for my own apartment while still attempting to engage in a social life, dish out my monthly gym check, write my new novel, and stick strong with my diet is incredibly taxing, especially with the plummeting realization that, ya know, I’m currently with my parents at this age, when most of my friends are moving up in the work force, marrying high school sweethearts, and living it up.
I don’t even know who I am and what I want–I just know I don’t want to leave this life unlived, and be happy, aware, and alive. Right now the focus is on my eating lifestyle and fitness, and it’s given me such phenomenal direction, hobbies which incite passion within me, I’m actually considering returning to school for a degree towards being a sports nutritionist.
But being all I can be, doing what I can with what I have, despite external pressures–my siblings all well alone and off, my parents egging me to move to Raleigh, some friends mocking my new pescatarian lifestyle, lacking in money and resources to leave this place without regrets–and internal issues, is overwhelming. I don’t feel as though I’m truly living in a world like this, when there’s so much to do and so much out there. I just want my life to kill me.
Eh. At times, I feel like a prime number, a part that doesn’t fit in this jigsaw of life. The struggle of becoming who I want to be, because you are the struggle. And it’s not quick, over-the-night realization. It’s brutal, slow, agonizing, exhausting. A rollercoaster of self-doubts and triumphs, whether undergoing that prickling throe of discomfort as you stagger into the gym amid fitter men and women, taking classes and jumping on that struggle bus while everyone else excels. Or running to Food Lion at 9pm due to craving indulgence so terribly in a late-night purchase of cookie dough ice cream. Or blacking out on a night in the town, and only waking up to hear you’d been kicked out of the bar.
Yep. Life is difficult.
I’m flawed, fucked up, a misplaced sensation, feeling like a broken diamond. But sometimes you just have to look at yourself from another angle, and remember diamonds reflect in different lights, dazzling, and you understand you are broken and flawed, a million trillion fucked up pieces of infinite beauty and perfection, human, in this inhuman world.
And despite those mornings, where you wake up at 11:04, telling yourself today today today will be different, after a night of two bottles of red wine, and missing work and skipping leg day because you don’t think you deserve it, you remember how instead of buying the ice cream you opted for the gluten-free cookies. Instead of not returning to the gym, you went back anyways. Instead of choosing not to stand, you rise, look in the mirror, face hungover with a bleeding nose and swollen eyes, smile, and tell yourself, ‘Just another day in paradise.’