My birthday is comming up in a little over a week. Not just any old birthday, either. No, this time I am turning the big 3-0. Yeah, I am getting old. Not only do I feel old, I am fucking terrified.
Form the entire past year, this of the 29th year of my life, I have been filled with tremendous amounts of regret and introspection. In some ways, I have been old for years. I got pregnant with my first child at 20, married at 21, and had my second child at 24. I wasn’t going out and partying like most people in their twenties. Not in the traditional sense, at least. Yeah, sure, I went to bars and clubs on occasion. But this only happened when I had someone to watch my kids. If they could spend the night at their grandparents, because a babysitter just for the night does me know good if I have to make breakfast and what not in the morning with a hangover.
I partied in a different way. Yeah, I partied my ass off. Here in lies the major hindrance in me having an easy transition into the third decade of my life. I don’t even really remember large chunks of my twenties. Bits and pieces here and there in a story that is a blur overall. An outline of a story in which the majority of the details have yet to be filled in. So, yeah I partied in my twenties. I spent the majority of ages 19 to 28 high. Albeit with a three year hiatus between ages 22 and 25.
I have avoided both my five year and ten year high school reunion due to my lack of accomplishments in life. I went to a high school that is ranked in the top twenty high schools in the nation. In that school, I was always an over-achiever. You know one of those “most likely to succeed” people. So you might say that I am a major disappointment.
I go on Facebook and what not and see my peers with their great jobs. Their new, shiny, big McMansions. Real grown up shit. Real careers. Most of them are just now getting married. Just now having kids, if they have got that far.
Don’t get me wrong, I have never, not for one single day, regretted getting married at such a young age. I am well aware of the statistics on young marriages, but ten years later, we are still as much in love as the day we got married. I actually feel that I am very fortunate in the respect that I didn’t have to search for years, kiss many toads in order to find my prince. I found my soul mate early on in life, and that is truly a gift. My children are also a blessing. They have saved my life many time over. They are for sure the reason why I am here today, sober and alive.
So yes, I am aware of the many blessings in my life. Even still, I can’t help but think that I have been a let down to myself and my family. I was supposed to be a major music executive or an elementary school teacher. What am I? A stay at home mom with an extensive criminal record, two years or so worth of college credit, a fucked credit score, a resume that is all over the place, and deep ass track marks all over my arms and legs that tells everyone in the world exactly who I am. Yeah, I am still the smartest or one of the smartest people in the room, but I am smart enough to know that that means exactly jack shit.
Here I am turning thirty and my life is nothing like it was supposed to be. In all honesty, I didn’t even want to have my first child until I was about thirty-three or so. I figured that I was going to be a modern woman, a career woman. I didn’t even figure that I was going to get married until I was almost thirty. I was going to live in New York City. I was going to be wearing designer everything. Smart, sophisticated, feminist- that was going to be me.
I know what you are thinking, shit happens. Life happens. I know, and that’s fine. I know that I am ODD, and that I probably had my life a little too planned out, and maybe I did. But how the fuck did I let my life go so off course?
I don’t even talk to or see any of my girlfriends from high school any more. I am too embarrassed and ashamed, and they wouldn’t understand. They gossip about me, wondering what the hell happened to the shy, sweet girl they knew from back when. Yeah, everyone knew that I had a dark, depressive side, but no one saw this coming. Maybe, just maybe I did.
When I was a teenager, I was always interested- obsessed almost- with what one would call the underbelly of society. I always had some sort of sick desire to try drugs. My life was so sad and black that I was almost looking for a reason for it to be so hard. I tend to self-sabotage like that. Yeah, I am a sick fuck. Lol.
I have been working on accepting that what has happened, has happened. It is the past. I can not go back and relive my twenties. How I wish I could. I don’t remember most of what should have been the best decade of my life. I will never get those years back. They are gone and I fucked them up. I have a beautiful family, but that is all I have.
One of the biggest threats to my sobriety is my inability to accept my life as it is. This is me. There are many days that I am fine with the fact that I am an addict. It has made me a really good, caring person. I am fine with WHO I am, just not WHAT I have accomplished, or rather that lack of accomplishments. I am having a n extremely hard time justifying how little I have done in my thirty years on Earth. It is almost enough to make one want to give up all together.
Maybe peace will come to me after my birthday comes. I have been studying the teachings of the Dalai Lama. This new found “zen” has offered me some small amounts of peace. I am far from the woman that I want to be. I do like the idea of always being a work in progress. I am the kind of person who can not just be still. If I am ever complete, I would be in complete and total misery. I just thought that I would have made far more progress in my life. Well, here’s to another decade.