i’ve always been pretty spazzy. my balance is a wreck (i can and will fall over out of nowhere) and i run into things a lot. i talk too fast, almost as if i don’t get a thought out fast enough someone will be quick to cut it off. i stumble over my words often, tripping over letters and sounds until it’s all just a big blur coming out of my mouth. when i get excited about things i do a little jump thing while i talk. i’ve been told it’s endearing, but i’m not quite sure when it stops being so and i’m expected to grow up a bit.
lately i’ve struggled with knowing what exactly constitutes growing up. i’ve stated im 18 now more times than i can count, but it’s intentional, because for some reason i can’t bring myself to believe it. for some reason what’s expected of me is more confusing than ever. any time i sit down and write lately, all i can seem to say is how much i hate it.
the feeling comes and goes, the uncertainty and wonder keeping me awake. some days it’s gone entirely, some days i feel the full weight of it resting on my chest and my shoulders.
i fall in and out of love with myself constantly, deciding which one it is each morning only to have it change by that night. blah blah blah, no one understands me. is that unhealthy? i don’t know.