​Growing up seems to take an eternity until you’re finally here.

Growing up seems to take an eternity until you’re finally here.

You’re brought into the world. 9 pounds, blonde hair, brown eyes, big baby, big smile. You get a little older. Drink hot cocoa with your mama in a thunderstorm. Stomp in puddles, dig around in the mud for worms. Kick your first soccer ball. Make your first friend. You play with Barbies and stay up past your bedtime to watch for shooting stars. Read your first book, promise Daddy that you’ll grow up to be a writer. Never stop reading. You play soccer, softball, basketball. Break your arm. It hurts. You get better. Get a kitten, fall in love with her, never let her go. Watch your cousin get married. Twirl around in pretty dresses. Go to the hospital. They say you’re sick. You’re never going to get better. More doctors. More books. More kitten kisses and shooting star wishes.

You get a little older. Change schools. You have no friends. Your stomach hurts. The other girls are growing boobs and brag about their periods. You layer tank tops to hide your chest. Hating your body. Pray every night. Dear God, make me better. Dear God, make me not sick. Dear God, make me a boy. You hide razors, watch yourself bleed in the shower. It scares you. It feels good. Mom and Dad send you back to your old school. You cut your hair. You cut your thighs. You have your first kiss. You have sex. You’re too young.

You get a little older. Make friends, try to know who you are. Know what makes you happy. Reading makes you happy. So does being on stage. Drawing. Music. Thai food. Cats. Holding hands with a someone. Laughing with friends. Funny movies. Stuffed animals. Short hair. Watching the stars.

You try to kill yourself. It doesn’t work, you give up halfway through. You hide the cuts under your clothes until they stop bleeding. These scars won’t go away. Your body hurts. You audition for shows. You find new friends. You dye your hair. It looks like shit. That’s okay. You come out. Start to smile again. The world comes to a standstill. School lets out for a few weeks. More like a few years. You find yourself. Yell at your parents. Read more books. Write a thing or two. Get your first car. Total it. Get another car. You fall in love. It’s real, you think. He likes you as you are. Summer of bliss, summer of kisses, summer of boy meets boy and boys love each other and secrets kept and parents never met. More shows. More friends. More memories. First job. It’s a bust. Second job, more like it. You fight with your parents. Run away. Promise you’ll never talk to them again.

You get a little older. You miss your mama. You started calling her mama again. New Year’s, musical, prom. Sex, weed, parties. You’ve never been this happy. You graduate. He breaks up with you. You’re never going to be this happy again. You gain more bodies and more friends. A mania. High. Driving. Smoking. Waffles. Makeouts. Parties. Memories. You go to college. You’re own your own, kid. You fall in love with every boy you meet. You fall in love with a girl, that’s different. You try to get your act together. Make good grades, work, make money, save money, tell your parents you love them. You’re a good kid. Your grandma calls you her grandson. You plan your future. Your best friend is there. Your therapist tells you to get your shit together, and you try. You breathe. Go on walks. Go to the gym. Pet your cat. Clean your room. Smoke with the window open. Play music. Be creative. Didn’t you tell your dad you’d be a writer when you grew up?

You’re grown up now.

It seemed to take an eternity, but you’re finally here.

12/7/2022

***

Note: I found some of my creative writing in an old journal. I feel a strong need to share this with someone, even if they’re a complete stranger. This particular piece of writing struck a cord with me. 19 year old me would never thought I’d be where I am today. I hope this resonates with someone.

If you’re reading this: You can do it. You’re here. And sometimes, that’s enough.