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Entering Adulthood At Age 34
Better late than never, right?
It’s 21:36 as I begin to write these words. Beside me on the table is a small chocolate delicacy for children, which I absolutely savor. You see, it’s the last one for the upcoming two months — and probably beyond.
Although I’m not feeling sad writing these words, it feels probably the most heartbreaking piece I will ever write. I am growing up, giving up on the part of me that I believed would be there forever — doing whatever I want when it only concerns me.
I could eat whatever I want. My body would take it. I could do whatever I want with my time — the world will take it. I could 100% replace water with only Coke Zero — my liver will take it.
And then suddenly, you’re two weeks away from celebrating your 34th birthday — living at your parents’ home, suffering from food-associated obesity, the beginning of the non-alcoholic fatty liver disease, self-esteem issues, and Anxiety about the big decisions in life.
I’ve been taking driving lessons throughout the last few weeks, and driving the road is terrifying less than actually having to spend 80 minutes alone in a car with an instructor who wants to get to know you better and teach you driving.
