Time flew by
so very fast.
Today was my 18th birthday and I feel overwhelmed by this thought. What have I done? What am I going to do?
I’m scared of adulthood. I’m ready to be grown up to the extent that I wanna be “independent”. I still wanna be coddled by my mommy and daddy a little longer… I wanna wear the cute sparse pigtails and overalls I wore as a tumbling three year old.
What’s wrong with me?
I wanna relive rolling around on the carpet, eating soft pretzels and enjoying Veggie Tales while my mom cleans the house. Then accidentally make a mess and be proud I told her the truth (as proud as a 7 year old could be).
I think I’m afraid that the older I get, the less my parent’s will be concerned about me. I want them to think about me. I’m their baby girl.
I pretend I know how the world works and sometimes I ache for the day I’ll move away and begin an adventure of my own. Yet I can’t help but greedily wish I was three again. With 97 years ahead of me and not a care in the world. I’d think less about death or taxes or crime. I’d have not wronged my mother in any way. Like a new start.
I guess I’m glad I am at 18 in the sense that I can try and redeem myself for being a bad daughter. I can help more. Assume more responsibility to take a load of my mom’s long list of chores.
I suppose I can’t stop time. Every second I breathe I grow older and older.
I don’t know how everyone deals with this existential crisis I’m having.
Tonight the harshness of the world suddenly becomes reality to me. I’m not sure how to feel.