This year, I will have been alive for 20 years, and for the first 18, I feel like I lived 2 years for each birthday. For 18 years I lived with passion, making choices seemed simple, even when I had to choose between the trip of a lifetime and a dance show, I always knew the path I was walking, and I was happy to be on it.
For 15 of those years, my feet danced along the way, while I never felt truly appreciated or values, the movement sustained me, I thrived on pushing myself to do what so few do, to be the best of myself. When I danced, whether in front of a class, or in front of a thousand people in a West End theatre, I was dancing for myself, hell I was dancing myself.
Until it just stopped. You can replace someone's heart with a donated organ, but it'll never be their own again. I feel like I sealed up a little piece of myself in a glass ball, along with all the happiness and release I associated with it, and stored it where that heart used to be. And all it takes, is some tiny reminder, some tiny bump, and it all begins to escape, and I have to remember what I'm missing.
What I really want is to be able to go back in time, and to have those years again and again. Forever. All the living to fill up the farce that my life seems to have become.
What does this translate to?
A lost, lonely 19 year old, sitting in a half-made bed, and crying to R. Kelly.
This is meant to be reflective, not depressing, and I guess what I'm trying to say is not that I'll never be happy in that way again. It's just that I'm scared, so absolutely terrified that it's gone forever, so while I can tell myself logically that its not, I cant really convince myself its true.