Once we get to 21, that’s it for most of us, isn’t it? 

Each birthday after feels like we were robbed by a greedy lover who ravaged our bodies to their heart’s content but left us frustrated and unsatisfied. 

Well, kinda messed up to put it that way, but I just feel hopeless getting older with nothing to show but the wrinkles and impending grey hair.  The only one who keeps winning is time. 

Not that I’m particularly hungry for recognition for doing something grand, because I’m a devastatingly private person, but in that privacy, I want to say to myself yes, I did so and so in that year. 

In other words, I want me to feel good about being me.  I don’t want praise just from others. 

Why can’t I love me for who I am?  Is it because I know that this isn’t the best I can do?  Well, obviously this couldn’t be my best; I’ve been unemployed for 4 years. 

Illnesses and handicaps aside, I know I can still perform and function normally.  Just have to remember not to close my good eye for too long, lol. 

Seriously though, hearing of the progress of my younger cousins, I can’t help but feel that much more useless. 

It’s not a matter of jealousy, I don’t think.  Instead, while happy for and proud of them I feel sad for and disappointed in myself.  That is to say, I don’t want what they have, I’m just in despair because I have accomplished naught. 

I didn’t have to get this sick.  I could have controlled myself.  I should have controlled myself.  I would have, if I had only known it would have come to this. 

But as always, ‘if I had only know’ always comes last. 

Le folly of youth. 

Uncontrolled illnesses that have led to many, many surgeries and rehab, which in turn led to unemployment. 



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