22

I’m going to be 22 in 30 minutes. I know you’re supposed to be kind of lost in your 20’s. I know that. It is so different to say it rather than live it. I’m supposed to be having fun. I am. I mean, I guess I am. I don’t know. I don’t feel good.

A lot of my ex-boyfriends have girlfriends now that love them very much. I don’t know. I think I want to be loved. I think I don’t know how to get there on my own. I’m going to be 22 and I’m sitting on my couch writing about how I’m unhappy. I’m so confused. I’m sad I think. I feel like no matter what has been going on in my life the theme has always been sadness. It is constant, like the pull of the tide in the ocean and the beating of my heart.

Is this what I am meant to be? Is this who I want to be? I cannot imagine myself 10 years from now, content and married with children that I adore. I can’t picture my family home, let alone my joy. There’s something about birthdays that makes me so sad. I don’t know where I’m supposed to be at this point but I feel like this isn’t it. Maybe that is the lost thing I was talking about before.

I can’t escape it. The idea that I am supposed to be doing and being more than I am. Maybe I will look back on this in a year and laugh. Perhaps I will be content then. Satisfied, even. But some part of me really doesn’t think so. I want to go home. I am sad and this weight is heavy.

I accomplished a lot this year. I went to Spain, something I didn’t think was possible to do on my own, but I did it. I was really brave. I was successful with that. That was something I couldn’t question my resilience in, because I have proof. I was there. There was a time when I was courageous.

But there was also a time I was loved. It has been so long I have forgotten what it feels like. There is nobody to greet me in the morning, nobody to bid me goodnight in the evening. Nobody that cares what I ate for lunch or if I cry when my thoughts consume me. Nobody at all.

My friends are planning a surprise for me for tomorrow (18 minutes away). That makes me happy, I think. It is strange to think there are people that want to show up for stuff like this. I always downplay it because it makes me feel awkward to feel like I’m forcing people to want to celebrate me. Sometimes I question whether they really like me at all. A lot of the time, actually.

Maybe I’ll grow in the next year. Maybe I will become someone I am happy to interact with. I suppose that’s up to me. I don’t know. I really don’t know a lot of things these days. Maybe I stopped looking inward just like how I stopped looking in the mirror so often because I thought if I ignored what I didn’t like to see it wouldn’t consume me. It still does.

Every version of me has given me some clarity, something of value. I remember that. I hope I gave some value to other people's lives too. I hope they remembered that I existed and it left reverberations of sweetness in their minds rather than a bitter taste in their mouths. I don’t think I’ve been tasting that good to myself lately.

I think I’ll be okay. I’ll be 22 soon (8 minutes), and I have time to grow and change and settle. I hope this time next year things are a bit different. I hope I feel held and supported and loved and cared for. I hope I feel safe. I will be okay because I want to be okay. I will be resilient and endure and enjoy and find happiness and satisfaction and affection.

I am 22 and I have no idea what I am going to be. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe in all the unsureness, this is where I am supposed to be.