There came a point where I was staring cold hard reality in the face and I couldn't avoid anything any longer. I know of kids my age who became jaded and complacent and I guess I'm lucky in that I've realized my life is passing me by long before it's beginning to happen. We lie awake at night and wonder how young can you be to die from old age. But it's strange to have to do a complete 180 or get a bird's eye view of your life and everything you do and everything you think and how it may all be wrong.
These realizations all stem from one cold night over a Thanksgiving holiday weekend where we sat in the car in a fast food parking lot in the middle of suburbia. Toxins ran rampant in our blood streams and we wondered if we were capable of loving anyone more than we love ourselves. Vanity isn't what I'm getting at though because it's the most selfless thing even if I can't explain how. People just romanticize the idea of themselves a whole lot more than is realistic. Then there was that other time we were in bed and he asked me to hold him for three minutes before it was time to get up. Three is such an arbitrary number and I remember smirking at the idea but I don't even think I lasted one minute before I started to get anxious and needed to get up. And then there's this practice where I can love and leave and for the most part it's not a big deal. So is it intimacy? I don't think so but you tell me. I've been called a bitch because I had an opinion. Before then was an entirely different situation where I completely lost myself and promised I would never go back to that and he could never understand. So if bitches are girls who have priorities outside their romantic relationship, then I'm okay with that.
If this doesn't make sense at all then just know I'm stringing together several situations and how they may or may not have lead to me automatically waking up at 3:30 am for a week straight. It's the shit that keeps you up at night (or in my case, gets you up); that leads to you lamenting over relics of the past and farfetched hypotheticals at the same time; that leads to you so absentminded you don't remember if you stopped for that red light; that leads to you and your fucking academic adviser crying in her office on a Wednesday.
But if "hitting rock bottom" means I have a well-paying and stable job, people who love, people to love, and food in my stomach, then this rock isn't so hard and I should just grow the fuck up.