It's kind of insane to me that two years ago, I was in a different apartment two thousand miles away from here, going through some personal stuff and way more messed up in the head than I realized at the time. Reading that sentence back, it's easy to feel like not much has changed other than the actual apartment. But I like to think I'm a little better. I know how messed up I am now; that's gotta be some kind of improvement.
I struggle a lot with feeling old. Usually, I try to puzzle out that thought, because honestly, I'm not that old. Actually, I tend to get comments from people about how young I look. So why do I feel old? I think it's a mixture of how much I feel like I've wasted my life and how much fucked up shit I've gone through. My therapist said something about our life experiences having a big impact on the age we feel we are, and that's probably a way more eloquent way to put it.
I may not really be old, but everything in my past feels so distant. Like it didn't really happen to me, even though I know it did. This is probably because of all the dissociation that comes along with PTSD. Or maybe it's just good old-fashioned repression. Whatever the case, it's hard to picture things that happened in my earlier twenties without also thinking that wow, God, it's been such a long time. I have a lot of trauma buried in those years, most of which I won't be ready to talk about publicly for a long time. (I tend to keep things vague when it comes to that kind of personal life detail.) I suppose it's been there all this time, but at times I feel envious of my younger self, who didn't yet grasp the weight of all this stuff and thus didn't really have to deal with it. She just had to survive, and get older. And she grew up into me, a bitter and cynical adult who has some nostalgia for the younger years even though objectively they really sucked at times.
Like drinking with friends. There were a couple of years before the alcoholism developed where I was able to actually enjoy drinking socially. Those years are long gone, obviously. I suppose part of the reason I remember them fondly is because it was before drinking became such a complicated problem. It was simple back then. I always have liked simplicity. It was also nice having friends, to be honest. I've come to terms with the fact that I enjoy spending large amounts of time alone. But I also have a hard time making friends and getting along with people due to my social anxiety disorder, and I resent it at times. I wish it were easier for me to get on with others sometimes.
And...okay. I really don't talk about this much on here. But before I moved to Washington, I was in an on-and-off-but-eventually-stabilized-to-on relationship for about six years. I have a lot of work on myself to do before I'm ready to talk about that, I think. All I really want to say about it right now is, when I moved to Washington he didn't come with me. I haven't been in a relationship since then, and I haven't actually decided if I even want to again. It's kind of complicated. The therapist helps with that. But there are things I miss sometimes. I'm rather averse to physical touch, and in fact, the last time I took that Love Languages test I got a whopping 0 in Physical Touch. But I won't deny that cuddling with someone you love is nice. Also, I'm not big on cooking for myself, but I love making food for other people, and I especially love making lunch boxes for other people. Kind of harder to do that for just random coworkers and/or strangers, you know.
But do you want to know what really got this whole entire ramble started? I recently found out that a celebrity I admired did some horrible, awful things to their ex-partner. I'm not going to name any party involved. But it kind of shattered me a bit. Maybe it shouldn't have surprised me so much, what with how the last few years have gone in regards to finding out terrible things about famous people. But it did. I guess it's sort of like justifying all the little things your partner does to hurt you. You think you're immune somehow. You think you'd know if you were really getting hurt, if they were really a terrible person.
And I'm jealous of that past me, who got to enjoy admiring a celebrity without having this knowledge. I'm disappointed in myself for ever feeling that way. I know I need to not put people on pedestals. Celebrities are humans like us and they make mistakes and they're not perfect, and none of that knowledge should shock me. But eh. I'm dealing with it. Again, the therapist helps with that.
I've never felt like I really know how to adult. I feel like at some point, you're just supposed to wake up one day and know how to be a functioning adult in society, and I haven't woken up yet. I guess I am an adult, though. With all that entails.
Basically I just spent over nine hundred works to tell you that growing up sucks. There's a reason these are labelled as "rambles" and I hope you know that by now.