Life is freaking difficult, if any of you haven’t figured that out yet I don’t know why you’re reading a blog. You obviously have better things to do with your time, like play in a field of butterflies or something.
The thing I really truly love the most about life is that when you think you’ve got it down to a science, or that you’ve got it covered, it corners you and you’re stuck and then you are doing something completely different, wondering what on Earth you thought you were doing in the first place. Ahh, welcome to the human experience.
Now, why am I bitter at such a young age? 19 to be exact. I’m not exactly, sometimes I think life could be a field of butterflies, but really it’s just a field where the grass only grows in that-one-section-where-you-fixed-the-sprinkler-system-and-you’re-getting-to-the-rest. Sometimes you happen to land yourself in that one watered section, but its rare. My life isn’t that bad to be fair, I am not in eminent danger, I have food and water, clothes, a loving family, a boyfriend. However, my body decided it thought I had it too good, so it rebelled, and thus instead of being at college, I am sitting in my bed writing a blog to the infinite void, that may or may not be picked up and chuckled at by a mere few. Now, back to my body rebelling, I have fibromyalgia, depression, anxiety, and (the new fun) possibly bipolar disorder. So basically I feel like an old decrepit woman, but look perfectly fine. It’s an exciting adventure!
At a young age, apparently, I learned that life was going, with or without me, as noted in this lovely picture of baby me learning to ride a bike. I look utterly terrified, upset, and like I am yelling something obnoxious, and yet there life is, you know – the bike, continuing on whether I am yelling, or ready, or whatever else.
So here I am: writing a blog instead of completely withdrawing into my own little cocoon.
Life: 0 Me: 1