I remember being 16, slouched and angry on buses, perpetually cold
I remember glaring at everyone that met my eye because I was so much more than they were
I remember burning with self-righteous anger and hatred and vitality
And I remember 18, too.
18 was thinking I was going to take off any day now and never making it, was walking home and wondering when I was going to escape, thinking I would die if I was there any longer, was suffocating in the cloying warm silence of my house
And still hating everyone, but in a slower way – the steady burn of a dying fire replacing the engulfing flames of my youth
19 was self-diagnosis and actually leaping from the brink, and taking off, and falling, falling further and further, watching disappointment, and health, and sobriety whistle by, before crashing into my rock bottom, face down in the dirt, crushed, bruised, held in the vice of my mind
Giving up, and thinking that everyone had been wrong, there was no way out of this labyrinth, there never would be.
But at 21, it’s different.
It feels like maybe my parents didn’t actually fuck me up as much as I’d thought and
Maybe there’s no such thing as irreparable damage and
Maybe she wasn’t The One and maybe my heart actually has healed and maybe love won’t save me but maybe I don’t need to be saved anymore
There will always be the emptiness that echoes inside me but I don’t tear my skin open and rip myself apart any more and that’s got to be something, really
You see, flames devour everything in their path, and living as an inferno wasn’t living at all, and I disagree with Cobain, fading away seems like the most beautiful thing in the world to me now, and I wish I knew where this change came from, but I’ve never been more glad that I held on for the eternity of those years
At 21 it feels like my life might be starting to come together, maybe"
unknownnouns (via unknownnouns)