Believe it or not, I used to be a really optimistic person. Through my sadness, anxiety, and self-esteem issues, I was always filled with hope. Things were always going to work out. It was all going to be okay.
I don’t know where along the lines that hope faded into jaded cynicism like every other person my age. But lately I’ve been questioning the point of it all. Why was I trying so hard when nothing really matters?
It started getting harder and harder to look for love when all I was going to be was somebody’s manic pixie dream girl. Only here to remind you that life is beautiful and worth living and love will find it’s way. I lived and breathed these words to the men in my life, but it transformed into a big red flag that that’s all I was to these lovers who were so important to me:
You were my commitment. I was just your reminder.
Friendships and relationships always tattered or broke. I’ve moved around enough to know that it’s just a part of life. Of course that made me sad, but it never affected my view on my future. But suddenly people’s absence started eating at me more and more. My hope came to a grinding halt.
At 22, I don’t expect my life to be stable. Exactly the opposite; I know that my feelings, perceptions, and experiences are more volatile than ever. But I yearn for security.
I try to come up with any reasonable excuse for my influx of incoherent emotions:
It’s my depression that ebbs and flows. Everyone is allowed to feel sad after a breakup. Most people my age don’t know exactly who they are yet.
All of these notions are valid, and it sucks that I have to dismiss them as excuses for my erratic behavior, but I’d rather it be something as transient as these than admitting that my spirit is broken.
I want to be that person who can still be optimistic and hopeful when I run into bad luck. I still want to be that person who fights for what she wants and gets it because I’m passionate and ambitious. I want to be everything that I love about myself.
Because if I stop loving myself it’s going to be all for nothing: the tears, the therapy, the pills, the vomiting, the heartbreak.
I want my life to mean something. I want my struggle to strengthen me and not break me.
I just want to know that things are always going to work out. That it’s all going to be okay.