I Don't Need a Metaphor - COMPLETED

fourteen

It can only be described as bittersweet. 

The thought of once believing I never would have made it to my current reality, that is. I feel as if I am years beyond my expiration date. Not in the sense that I have become rotten and spoiled.

Indigestible. Unfit for human consumption. But rather, I wasn't supposed to make it this far.

Originally, I had planned out the last leg of my existence ages ago. Short term goals were end goals for me. I could have pinned my last day on the calendar. Now I live a life with little to no direction.

That's a lie. Once I realized my last day was no longer foreseeable, I began to create a loose outline for my future. A rough draft, if you will. Sometimes, it seems to only get rougher and rougher regardless of how many edits I put into it. Here and there I feel as if the directions I had given myself are much like decades old directions to traverse through a once rural town that had been turned into an urban landscape in order to keep up with the modern reality of consumerism and overpopulation.

To put it simply, I don't know what the fuck I am doing. Maybe it's the complacency talking. More like my frustration at my own complacency. Almost like my entire being is split in two: my body, my heart, my mind, everything. I am two sides of a coin.

Sometimes, I have a feeling half of that coin is still stuck in the past where I had assumed I would have never made it to see adulthood. That half of the coin must be assuming I'm on borrowed time right now, and instead of making the most of it, I have a sneaking suspicion that side is just going to fucking wallow in what can only be described with utmost accuracy as my inevitable end, my death.

Don't get me wrong. I am not under the impression that every day I wake up, death is waiting for me. Lurking in the corner of the room. Watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

It's just a simple fact of humanity. We are all going to die at some point in this universe's existence. I'm not having a crisis upon the jarring realization of my own mortality. This is something I've always been aware of for as long as I can recall.

It's more of feeling jaded. It's like that side is convinced I shouldn't be here and has put up with the reality but is only growing tired of it all.

Growing tired of surviving.

Growing tired of overcoming.

Growing tired of enduring every gain and loss that comes my way.

It's frustrating to feel almost at a loss for myself and my future, but I'm also proud of myself for having made it this far. Sometimes, I almost convince myself that the bare minimum is worthy of a celebration. Not like an egregious party with friends and family. There are so many things I would rather partake in than looking upon a cake with my face on it.

I would think of the celebration being more of just a small acknowledgement and congratulation to myself for the accomplishment. 

I know I am making some kind of progress, in the grand scheme of things. Towards what, exactly? I'm not entirely sure. Maybe this is what life is supposed to be like. I just have to keep trucking along and figuring it out as I go. Maybe no one really knows what's going on. Maybe everyone is just trying to take it all one day at a time while trying to make the most of what comes their way.