I'm Not Ready

Nope nope no, I'm not ready to be 28 yet. But here I am anyway.

I don't remember ever dreading a birthday like this before.

It would be foolish of me to think I'm unique at all in this—there's a sense of time slipping through my fingers, despair from feeling like nothing's been accomplished, the panic from not knowing where I'm going. Clock's ticking, time's-a-wasting.

And it really does feel like time wasted. I know I'm still young and I know I still have years and years ahead for me to experience plenty of happiness and to make something of myself. But those aren't here yet. They're "what if"s, unfulfilled promises and wishes that may or may not be all that great. What's here instead are memories of loss, failure, and pain.

I met with several former professors over the last few weeks—I had bound copies of my thesis and CDs of my works to give them—and they all wanted to know what I'd been up to and I felt at a loss for things to say. I'm still working in the same dreadful retail job. I'm still not making any artwork. I'm still incredibly lonely and pining for a girl who's still married.

Then, this weekend, I went to see a show being put on by several of my former classmates and, while the show was great and the works were great, I was still saddened by it. These were people I could've known, could've been friends with. Two more to throw on top of a pile of names of people I've lost touch with because I didn't know how to be their friend, because I couldn't believe that they could like me as much as I liked them, because I was too caught up in being depressed and anxious.

Tricia, Gary, Daniel, John J, John K, Josh, Brandy, Jessica, Cassie, Michael, Stefan, Katrina, Sarah, Emily, Toni, Nicola, Allie, Paul, and the rest I can't think of at the moment—You were all just too awesome for me. I still think about you guys and feel so much regret.

And those are names from only the past five years or so.

I'm not ready to be 28. I'm not ready to lose more people, more reasons to get through the day.

But, the times, they are becoming quite different. I think. I hope. I have Lucy now and even though we're in a bitch of a situation it's still more than I've had in years. I'm completely off my medications now and feeling good about it. I'm seeing a good therapist and (gasp!) I feel like we may be making progress, albeit very slowly. I'm looking at getting a teaching job. Visiting that show over the weekend has me wanting to be an artist again. And I have a secret book illustration project.

Will any of these pay off? I only more time will tell. More and more time—it's as if all I ever do is wait for things to happen. I wait and watch the wrinkles grow.