so now you’re about to turn twenty and the world hasn’t gotten any bigger for you. you’re untouched, unloved, unprepared. your parents still pay for your gas. your friends all have internships. one of them even got cast to be in a movie. you’ve got all this talent that you don’t know how to share. you just want to fuck someone, anyone, to feel a little less like an island. the man at the McDonald’s drive-thru held both sides of your hand when he handed you your change and you cried the entire way home. skin burns. you’re about to turn twenty and you feel like you’re fifteen. you sleep for fourteen hours and still need a nap. the world is shrinking one empty heartache at a time.
you’re scared you’ll never find anyone to love you, not even well. you’ll settle for anything.
you’re about to turn twenty and they never remind you how young that is. falling in love does not make you grow up, heartbreak does, and there is more than one way to fall apart. you’re about to turn twenty and it’s okay if you aren’t ready. it’s okay if you aren’t ready. it’s okay.
We are the girls with anxiety disorders, filled appointment books, five-year plans. We take ourselves very, very seriously. We are the peacemakers, the do-gooders, the givers, the savers. We are on time, overly prepared, well read, and witty, intellectually curious, always moving… We pride ourselves on getting as little sleep as possible and thrive on self-deprivation. We drink coffee, a lot of it. We are on birth control, Prozac, and multivitamins… We are relentless, judgmental with ourselves, and forgiving to others. We never want to be as passive-aggressive as our mothers, never want to marry men as uninspired as our fathers… We are the daughters of the feminists who said, “You can be anything,” and we heard, “You have to be everything.
That last sentence.
Hit me like a ton of bricks.