Help! I've been having a mid-life crisis since I was 16 and now I'm 28

There is an entire generation of humans on the internet: young adults freaking out about how much a mess they are. They're the ones that are "so relatable," whose perfectly curated Instagram conveys their quirky nature while still looking professional. Their blog is updated reliably and includes keywords like I'm a mess, broke, single, wine, pizza. They insist they eat crappy, garbage food, but their skin is flawless.

I'm not jealous, I swear.

From my late teens to my early twenties, I was that human. I didn't have a cult internet following on social media. It took me 10 years to launch my blog, and I've only posted on it once, and my Instagram has evolved from blurry photos of musicians to closeups of my chin and my bird cuddling me. But my entire personality was that I was a mess but somehow still functioning.

I am exhausted.

Being a polished "mess" on social media is the manic pixie dream girl of 2022. It is not possible. While Instagram filters, Adobe, and Canva are probably the perfect solutions to get "hot mess chic," and while the internet is full of lies, I still feel alone. I have done something wrong for not being that viral sensation who launched a whole career because of a tweet or a Vine. Have I mentioned I'm 28?

The fact that Vine no longer exists and I'd already be irrelevant is only a little comforting. The internet, and its culture, move pretty fast. I am 28, riddled with anxiety, and recovering from over a decade of chronic pain and depression.

The difference is that now, my meds are working, I love my job, and I no longer cry when I realize I woke up every morning.

As I've aged, my panic about what I am doing with my life fueled college certificates and a BA in English. Panic was my purpose, and suddenly, I'm a university graduate with a budding freelance writing career and my dream work-from-home writing job.

Now that I have my dream, I'm now faced with the reality that getting the career you have longed for, dreamed of, and did several years of post-secondary education is not the same as doing it.

Getting healthy and pain-free, something I wrote my first Vocal article about 5 years ago, is not easy. It is not easy to realize you have made it farther than you ever thought you would.

You're here. You're alive. Now what?

I love writing; I can't picture doing anything else. Now that I am healthy, I have energy and motivation after having my second surgery. I have a steady, well-paying job that is helping me get financially stable and out of debt for the first time in my life.

I am terrified.

I am terrified that I am now the age of all the people I looked up to when I was a self-defined mess. I was terrified that all of the times I was told "you'll be fine" proved true. I am fine.

While I would love to get out of my house more and not live with my parents, a pandemic and the Vancouver housing crisis mean that I am not unique. I am absolutely not the only one feeling like this. To quote my dad, I am not a white fly.

So what am I? Who am I?

While I've been through enough school to know that asking rhetorical questions is terrible writing, said rhetorical questions are what I write about.

So, what and who I am is still a cliche.