To live is to begin again at any particular moment.
Despite time not meaning anything, I still wanted to write a birthday post. It's been approximately 3 months after my turning [redacted] and it's not getting any easier. One time a friend of mine tried introducing me to this person who is 28, and I still think umm that's old? When it's really merely 3 years apart - the same amount of time I'd spent stuck in the same office doing/not doing the same menial tasks worrying about getting stuck and both fearing/yearning for change. My age is now apparently a common age limit for job vacancies (at least in my current working field).
Ageism and ableism felt so evident now more than ever and I would so much love to learn more about them, but alas. Not only have I not been writing I also read very very few, and this has somehow caused me to think much, much slower and keep forgetting things and (probably unrelated but) dropping things etc. I worry about not being good enough in documenting the vast amount of things I feel/think/experience and now by not exercising/forcing myself to pour it out I might have rendered myself worse and I worry if I'll ever feel better or be better or at least live up to my own expectations but
I'm not even making sense right now and future me might look back and scorn but anyways, birthdays right. Felt like a millenia ago but the year also felt long somewhat. I remembered noting the thing I hate the most about birthdays was being put at the mercy? Of how others treat you and being particularly seen and perceived and again none of this would matter should I learn to value myself truly and to stop living in the minds of others but apparently knowing the end goal and the way to achieve it doesn't make it any easier.
The year is 2020 and words does not matter. Feelings does. My mother was diagnosed positive with COVID-19 just 4 days shy from the end of the year, and I am a mess. Was, still am, probably always will, I just hope I'm getting better at hiding and/or living with it.