i’ve been home for four days. i’m sorry, i should mention i was in another state for a week. okay, one more thing, i met my twenty-sixth year while watching the first 48 on my aunt’s couch.
to say it’s been a weird month is an understatement. it’s been a weird goddamn year and you couldn’t pay me to relive it if everything remained exactly the same. so i won’t rehash the good, the bad, or the dirty of being 25 in 2016.
not worth it.
let’s just agree there are things i don’t talk about. some things i never have, some i’ve never known or known how to. if my recent online presence is any indication, i don’t talk at all anymore. this previous election cycle had me realizing i don’t have to supply my voice to every fucking conversion because if i did, i’d never stop talking.
i’ve enjoyed not talking.
i like not being anxious and paranoid 25/8. i like knowing the elephant in the corner now is really a mouse in the big scheme of things. i like taking care of myself because i’ve always been the only one to do so. i like not engaging every single thing just because it’s there.
i can, but should i? do i even want to?
that’s selfish. fact, not an opinion. i’ve taken an extended amount of time to myself. a mental health day has become a mental health trimester, which i intend to carry to term. if i don’t now i never will. and considering me and my family history, who knows how long that’d last me if i didn’t…
it’s a hard pill to swallow, but i’m no good to anyone else if i’m not to me first. and i quite like me.