(Feel free to skip this blog if you like. It’s not particularly… Hm. Interesting. Or long.)
Twenty five. Mid twenties. A quarter of a century. God I’m not happy about this. In all honesty, I haven’t really enjoyed a birthday since I was… Maybe 17 or 18? Even less since I hit my twenties. Even less, if possible, since I turned 21. Does this make me a bad person?
Another birthday means another year of… I’m going to say failure. Failure to decide what I want to do with my life. Failure to actually do anything with my life. Hell, even failure to feel happier with myself. Another year of thinking “now, what the crap have I done with my life?”
I’m an only child, and I feel this… Immense pressure to always make my parents proud of me; to make the most of myself and… Well. We all want to be better than our parents, don’t we? I don’t think that I’m on the right track to achieve that.
Yet, I’m in roughly the same position as I was when I just left uni. Just older, way more stressed, more tired all the time and further down the downward spiral. And it sucks. It really sucks.
Getting older is hard, man.
Maybe I just feel like this because this month hasn’t exactly been kind to me and/or my family. Or maybe it’s just an underlying problem. I don’t know, but I’m not particularly excited.
Look for a more cheerful post next week folks; sorry about the downers!