The Last Day of my Twenties
When I turned twenty I was in college, recovering from a problem with alcohol and living with undiagnosed bipolar disorder. I would be hospitalized six times, date a handful of guys, throw several killer parties (though I never broke my sobriety), bury two beloved cats, publish six books, and hold down three jobs (not all at once. And not including my job as a freelance writer). I never did finish college. But I have more true friends now than I have in my entire life and a boyfriend of 4 ½ years who loves me more than any guy ever has. Whatever you could say about my twenties, you have to admit. I lived the hell out of them.
Tomorrow I turn thirty. I don’t think I’m going to blog. Ill spend the day fielding phone calls from adoring fans, opening presents, going out to eat (my parents are taking me to my favorite Japanese restaurant, the next night Justin is taking me out to a top secret location before we celebrate our friend’s wedding this weekend) and just taking it easy. Last night I was feeling amorous and then was unable to sleep until about one in the morning. Then I woke up at about 5:30 and couldn’t fall asleep until eight. When you are under so much medication that is unusual so obviously my parents and psychiatrist guessed i was manic. I resisted this theory but I don’t feel like myself so I guess it could be true. I didn’t want to be on extra medication for the wedding or my birthday party next week but it couldn’t be helped. And accepting is something I’ve learned how to do in my twenties.
Another thing i learned in my twenties was the concept of growing apart. In college i met a very special girl (in a purely platonic way). She lived across the hall from me and we soon became best friends. On one of the occasions I had self-harmed she helped me patch myself up with her own Finding Dory band aids even though there was a lot of blood. She was so kind and I’ve seen her several times since then. But we don’t talk as much if at all. She started forgetting my birthday when I was still envisioning her as one of my bridesmaids. And then I learned that it’s okay to forget about people. It doesn’t mean the friendship never happened. It doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy or celebrate the memories. But if you keep looking backwards you’re going to walk into something.
And sometimes you don’t even know why people cut off communication. It might seem sudden, hurtful even. Did I make them mad, you wonder, maybe even ask. There are issues you might seek closure on and never get. The more I hear about closure the more I wonder if it even exists. In my twenties I ran into four of my ex-boyfriends (and I was so glad it wasn’t more). One was married now (he and his wife attended a poetry open mic I was hosting). We caught each other up about our families and friends and introduced our significant others. It’s weird how certain you think you are about something before you realize that in life nothing is certain. Nothing is guaranteed.
When I was 21, I had a psychotic break and tried to kill myself. Several months later a friend and former lover was successful. It made no sense to me. Why I had lived and he was dead. Why was I special? Was I special? Why him? Why not me? I’’ve been to dark places. They are the best places to see the stars. I have never tried to kill myself since even though I thought the pain might break me.
As I reached my late twenties, things became more stable. I met Justin. I almost drove Justin away when I was hospitalized in 2023 but Justin is very loyal. When he loves someone he stands by them no matter how ornery I could be. I built friendships with several amazing people I met at an organization called Rockland Poets where I attended poetry slams and open mics and eventually was made an organizer. As recently as two years ago I started hosting a fairly large book club. And I became even closer with my family, loving my role as a cousin and a sister. As my cousins go to college, get married, even have kids I find pride in my family. And of course my parents who have done everything for me.
Seriously, Mom and Dad. When I was 11 they took me to a child psychiatrist because they were worried about me: and they were right. I had pretty serious OCD and several other anxiety disorders. They were so supportive to me even though I was a pain in the neck growing up. I lied, I snuck around with boys, I drank way too much. They punished me as good parents do but they never stopped loving me and when I was diagnosed as bipolar they shopped around for the best psychiatrists and therapists finally finding ones I was comfortable with that were also highly competent. And they never stopped loving me. Thank you Mom and Dad. Thank you Michael. Thank you Justin. And everyone who never stopped believing I could make it to my thirtieth birthday when sometimes I thought I wouldn’t even make it until the next day. Thank you everybody. I can’t believe I’ll be thirty!
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