InsaneJournal

84: Goodbye, Mr. Chips
I'm pushing forty. Most people don't believe me when I tell them that. They tell me I'm blessed with great genes, that I'll look young for years to come.

I tell them I'm cursed to feel twice my age for years to come. That it's a miracle I look as good as I do.

They tell me that every day is a new beginning, that I only have to leave the past behind to move forward. I ask them if they could leave behind the memory of being nine years old and going to see your father in the morgue. Of being eleven and learning what it feels like to have a cigarette put out on your arm. Of being fifteen and getting robbed of the chance to give yourself away, even if it was going to be to the Senior in your calculus class in the back seat of his car while you were drunk. Of being eighteen and having all your hopes stolen from you. Of being twenty four and losing your only chance at happiness because of a cruel twist of fate and your own stupidity.

Of being thirty-seven and realizing that you've never been in control, but you'll be the one to burn when everyone else figures it out.

They tell me it's unhealthy to dwell on the past. That it's unhealthy to drink like a fish and smoke two packs a day. That if things were really as bad as I say, I'd look a lot worse.

I tell them to go to hell. I'm blessed with great genes, remember? I'll look fifty years younger than I feel until the day I die.

"I don't see how you could ever get old in a world that's always young."
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