25

At 22, I didn't think I'd be 23 and then I was. At 23, I didn't think I'd be 24 and then I turned 24. At 24 now, I think I'll most definitely not be 25. But, perhaps, I will be. 

Along the way, I've lost so much of who I was at 20 that turning 25 doesn't seem so much a celebration. Dreams have slipped by in the chaos of making it through every night. Ambitions left behind in the ache of not having enough strength to wake up. People have come and gone and while there have been fleeting moments of joy, nothing has ever seemed to last. 

Those I grew up around tell me, you're not the same anymore. And I look at myself and don't see the spark I held in my eyes. Small joys aren't joys anymore. They're chores. Most of them, I'm unable to complete. 

I wrote myself a letter at 18, one I was supposed to read at 25. When I read it, I am certain I won't find the girl whom I wrote it for. People I live around now, tell me, I like to suffer. But I don't think I can even bear to fully grasp my suffering, let alone enjoy it. 

So closing in on my 25th, I often joke about a full blown quarter life crisis. But it's not that. It's signs of me becoming a completely new person, one I don't like. Someone I can barely stand for the better part of time. There's more medicines at my bedside than books as they once were. I drink till I can't feel the ache and I wake up crying, both of which I once believed were impossible. 

We call it losing our spark to sound cool. But really it is losing an appetite. It's bearing the weight of not looking yourself in the eye. To smile when being spoken to, seems almost impossible. And people say you'll get over it. That it will pass. That you'll laugh about it when it's over. 

And yes I'll get over it and it will pass. But I can't say I'll laugh about it. Because I haven't laughed about what struck me when I was 21. I still can't talk about it without forcing my eyes wide open so I don't cry. And I definitely don't laugh about what unraveled at 23. 

So, perhaps, 25 is inevitable but what is also unavoidable is to accept how much of me is lost. How much of me is always going to carry fears, that someone I'll love will one day call unreasonable and that moment will break me. 

But when 25 comes, I will take the calls, thank those who wish me success and I will cut a cake which someone would have ordered with care and love. And I will laugh. Before I go to bed completely disassociated with the girl who I've come to be.