Saturday, October 1, 2016

25 Year Old Boy

I turned 25 a couple of days ago, I'm also very well aware that the last time I wrote in this well of sadness, agony and depression was 1 year ago. I'm not particularly sure if that's a good thing or not.

Wait, what am I saying, of course that's a bad thing.

My one year closer to death anniversary wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be, if I were to be completely honest. Perhaps it was the people I went out with to celebrate. Perhaps it was the booze and the idea of liver failure which made that night so much more special. Perhaps it was the girlfriend who took me out to a fancy dinner which made me feel like a storybook princess. Perhaps it was this cake...

By @mangkiubakes on instagram

Perhaps it was everything and nothing.

What I did realise though, is that I have not learnt to deal with any of my insecurities. Instead they seem to be growing in number like rabbits or... URs. It's like my mental age is frozen but I keep getting older and older and older like some sort of cheap Benjamin Button ripoff.

The worst part is knowing that I haven't progressed with any of them, not even the basic ones. You know, the ones you gain when you're a kid like a parasite that latches on to your jugular when your father accidentally tells you that your brother is better than you in every way. Well, that parasite was supposed to shrivel up and die a long fucking time ago but nope, still here. Still feeding on that sweet sweet inferiority.

This does sound as if it's going down the same road every birthday entry made but give me a minute. It's been a while since I ranted like this and by God why did I ever stop writing. This feels amazing, like waking up in the morning with a raging boner.

See, the difference here is I don't give a fuck anymore. On the eve of my birthday, while we were out drinking, they asked me to give a speech. Everybody was bright and happy and having a jolly fucking time so I thought why not dampen their spirits a bit. Too much of anything is a bad thing, someone said (The Prophet?). So I told them none of it matters anymore considering we're all going to die. So why worry about anything when the end result is already set in stone? Understandably they thought it was a little too dark for the mood but I felt that the speech was more for me. It's as if Drunk Me had to address Sober Me through retrograde memory.

This past year hasn't been the kindest, I have to say. There were a couple of events which fucking sent me reeling into the realm of limbo, Dadhi's death being one of them. I still have an entry I wrote a few weeks after she passed but I can't bear to finish it off.

Maybe next year will be a better one.

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