manic

But look at how every year I become less manic, more realistic. I become less crazed and dazed and start realizing that I’ll actually live after 18. I’m not gonna die at a tragically young age and I have so much more of life to live. I’ll grow into my thirties, maybe not with class, but with undying wisdom. I’ve stopped living for revenge and instead realized that living is the perfect revenge. People will often ruin themselves before you get the chance to. Shout out to Taylor Swift for writing “long story short”. She also said in “tolerate it”, “Believe me I could do it.” And look, I’m doing it. Though I may be mentally divorced and still recovering and a mother without a child, I’m doing it. I’m becoming the young woman I wanted to see myself become. The girl who blows kisses at protests and embraces her body, not just tolerates it. And for the first time, I’m okay with saying that death does actually scare me. There’s no more set rules and plans for after I’m gone, just an open window that I’ll have to jump out of, because if there’s no impulse in death, how do you know you’re dying? Does the mania come with impulse decisions or gut feelings? My intuition says I’ll never know (see the irony?), so for now I’ll even love myself through the mania. I’ll acknowledge the guilt and offer myself a bath and a nap. I’ll start mothering myself, washing my own back. Maybe that’s what I should’ve been doing all along, instead of observing life like an outsider.