I do all the things that grown-ups do. I work, I make money, I pay my bills. I am fully integrated into the tedium of adulthood. It’s a system that’s designed so even people like me, who are prone to mild spats of erratic anxiety and public meltdowns, can work it. You do your job and they (employer) hand you enough money to limp through another month. All the while I’m desperately trying to shoo off those ‘there’s got to be more’ thoughts.
Every day I make choices; every day I regret them. I choose to become friends with someone and then subsequently have my motives questioned and regret it because it makes his life, and mine, more difficult. I choose to speak my mind at work only then to be told that people apparently don’t like that. I choose to ignore my what my anxiety tells me and I get out of bed; I power through my day: No, everyone on Argyle street is not judging me. I choose to go out, be social, whilst trying to remain relatively sober. I choose who to go to bed with and who not – and sometimes I choose the option that is better morally than it is emotionally.
I feel like the last four years have sped by in a haze; I’ve blinked and I’ve somehow managed to cross the void from A to B. Now I am at ‘B’ I feel as though I am stuck. A couple years ago all I wanted was: 1) A nice flat in the city centre 2) To progress in work 3) To write more 4) to meet someone. I’ve reached three of those goals, which statistically isn’t bad but it’s now feeling as though it is not enough.
I am trying to decide what I can do to get from B to C – and then trying to work out if I’m simply working my way through the alphabet; as if adulthood can be achieved by tottering through 26 menial stages. That seems a lot of effort, I think I’ll stop at G but take a vacation around D (ahem). I need to make better choices to get to better places. I need to change my job, I need to meet someone. And to do that I need to better manage my life, which will involve me standing up straight, speaking a little louder and taking more risks – regardless of the domino effect or if it’s to the disdain of others.
I’m choosing to apply for other jobs that pay better. I am going to publish my book next week and if I receive negative feedback for it then I will choose to accept it and not let it dent away at my self-esteem. I will be wise in my choice of friends and confidants, and wiser still in my choices of who I invited in my bed: Here’s who it is okay to share a bed with: Your best friend, your brother (if you’re a boy), your sister (if you’re a girl.) Your mum or dad (if they are over 80). Your male friend (if he’s single) and your female friend (if she doesn’t snore.) An Italian model, a dog, a domesticated micropig. A hot water bottle. A bag of Doritos. The love of your life (wherever he may be.)
Here’s who is it NOT okay to share a bed with: Anyone who makes you feel as though they are doing you a favour by being beside you. Anyone who makes you feel as though you are invading their space. Any person(s) that say ‘I just can’t be alone right now’ because you deserve someone who is emotionally available full time. A Donald Trump voter. Your ex-boyfriend. Your ex-boyfriend’s brother.
I am choosing to move on to the next stage of my life, as I am choosing to be happy. Obviously, it as simple as that; I cannot just flip a switch and be happy. But I am going to make choices to get me further, to get me what I want, to help me reach my full potential and that in turn will get closer to happiness. I’ll choose to ignore the sickly feeling that worms its way throughout my entire body whenever a situation arises that causes my anxiety levels to spike. I’ll choose to give myself to someone when, and only when, I feel as though they deserve my affection. I am also choosing to stop saying all babies are cute, because 8/10 they look liked chewed up tomatoes. I’ve gone from A to B, and now I’ll start the long drive to C.