So last month around this time I wrote about my sister turning twenty-five. Whelp, the day has come and I am now twenty-three on the twenty-third. All those questions everyone asks, “Do you feel older?” Well, duh, no. I mean, who really feels older the day they turn an age? I think perhaps I might have felt my “oldest” when I first tried alcohol at twenty-one, but other than that, I am convinced I am still that awkward twelve-year-old girl who wanted to be homeschooled instead of going to public school because back in that day, someone was your friend one day and gone the next.
Why do I feel stuck at that age? I don’t know. Perhaps I feel a little older than that. I think sixteen is the oldest I feel. Sometimes, I don’t even believe that these last three years have happened to me. That is, the last three years of medical hell. I had my very first surgery three years and a day ago. Since then, five surgeries followed. Perhaps between morphine, dilaudid, and promethazine, it was just a hazy dream like stage that I encountered. I fought, sure, but I don’t feel like I am an example that people say I am.
I don’t feel like a fighter, I don’t feel like a hero, I don’t feel like someone who is accomplished, I don’t feel like someone who shows perseverance. I am just me. That is all I can be. When it dawned on me that I am this old – apparently – I can’t help but compare myself to others my age. Gah. Now my blog post got all angsty and emoish. Sorry all.
Another year is behind me, and now I am going to see what this next year has in store.