This time last year I was in Kenya. A sad, last attempt at trying to reload my batteries to (re)start living. I spent the entire week sipping cocktails (liquid calories didnt scare me yet at that point. In fact, the alcoholic fruitjuice flower-decorated drinks were pretty much the only calories I consumed at the time, it being the only thing that kept my mind hush and happy) and sleeping in the sun (lack of energy to stay awake, the hunger for warmth and the terror of having to get up and have people notice me). I can’t believe it’s been a year…
It hurts to think about it. To think about how much time has passed, unnoticed. How much time, how many things and how many people have slipped through my fingers without me being able to grab and hold tight. So many missed opportunities.
In a few days I’m turning 23. Last year I didnt celebrate. I was on an airplane, and the only one awake. Not only because of my ever-strong (EDrelated?)insomnia, but because of the whirlwind of terror in my brain. I was not the least bit sad I didnt get to celebrate, because it meant not having to have cake. Because oh my, wouldnt that have caused the world to end.
This year you’d think I’d want it differently. Celebrate it to the full, catch up on last years (have a double portion of cake?). But I wouldnt know how. I dont feel like I deserve any gifts, for as I have not earned my striped yet. And whom to celebrate with? My family, yes. But my friends I dare not invite. First half of them aren’t even friends at all anymore, I’ve scared them away or broke off contact with. The other half I’m scared to invite, again, for I do not deserve them.