panic attack
I thought I was fine with it.
Turns out I'm not.
So much for my jokes about last year being my first twenty-ninth birthday, or that I'll turn twenty-ten this year, because my twenties were so good to me that I just can't let them go.
I can't laugh at it anymore. I kind of want to scream.
I'm dreading 30 as though my birthday is my pre-arranged execution day. I break out in cold sweats. I almost cried - twice - at work today. My heart races. I can't concentrate on my job. I'm getting older, and 30 feels like a brick wall that I'm being relunctantly dragged over, with my youth on the side that's about to disappear from view forever.
I don't want to be old. I don't want to feel old. And what the heck have I accomplished in 30 years?
My mom says 45 was hard for her. I can't imagine my mom in a panic attack over a birthday, but there it is. It seems silly to think of anyone freaking out over a number ... until it's your number, and you feel completely justified in freaking out over it.
I know it's not the end; I know it's not old. Spare me the e-mails sermonizing that angle. But it's a milestone I'd rather skip over ... just get on with 31 or something. I can picture 31. I can't picture 30.
I've got a little while to get either a grip or a therapist - or both - but still. Eek(!).
2 comments:
I feel your pain. Twenty-ten is not something I'm looking forward to. Maybe it's just me, but why is it that turning twenty-ten isn't a big deal if you're married? Not cool. I remember when my Mom turned 30. She locked herself in her bedroom. Sounds like a plan to me.
I don't think it feels the same as when you're single and thirty. I don't know why.
But I do know that it is only the number that changes. You'll still be you--beautiful, incredible you.
You'll be thirty and flirty and thriving...someone once wished for that.
It's gonna be okay. Promise.:)
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