I am twenty-two. I am the remnants of a once-was-student who is on the verge of adulthood but is treading water over top of a reality that I am terrified to sink into. I am home, and away from home, no matter what end of the country I am on, and it feels complicated. I am better than I used to be, but not as good as I once was, and I am balancing supplements and therapies daydreaming about a life that feels a little less tiring, and I am trying so hard not to complain, trust me. I am relentlessly two-sided; I am excited and terrified, I am calm but anxious, I am okay when I am not. I am torn between the imaginary lives I have played over and over again in my mind, the contradicting goals I try and force myself to decide between. I am two steps towards the life where I become addicted to staying in motion; to living on wheels and moving around; and I am the same amount of steps towards a life the resembles something like settling down and finding some sort of home. I am sick of you’ll be fine’s, as if I don’t already know I will, and I am walking with arms wide open even if sometimes my palms are sweaty or my fists are clenched.

One thought on “22.

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