Twenty- something: PART 1

In all honesty I’ve been trying to write this piece for weeks. I don't know if I thought it would get easier or if I'd be in a better mood to express it, but either way it’s important to me. And I hope this version enraptures what I want it to. I will tell you the rest when I can, and so, this is in parts. Deal. 

The best years of your life.

This phrase is something I heard growing up and projected in the media, and now that I’m here, makes me want to throw up. I am finally an adult, a real adult, I remind myself. My younger self couldn’t be more proud, as I sit here trying not to explode. For as long as I can remember, the present wasn’t ever good enough for me. That time wasn’t something I wanted to enjoy, they were merely the means to the end. As if, only if my 20’s were the end. To me, the years of growing up weren't good enough, but I knew I was good enough to grow up. I felt too mature, too prepared, and too unforgiving of normal adolescent experiences. An old soul some would say, others called entitled. My memories are blocked by this internal fear of missing out on the good part, the parts that were a decade away from my childhood. Being a twenty-something means no longer being in my teens, or attending university. I wished those years away, longing for this next phase.