the very young and bitter author
Next week I’m turning 29 years old.
Shit, it seems like only yesterday I was 22, 24, 26…
Most thirty-somethings will tell you, “I would NEVER want to relive my twenties!”, and I’m starting to feel the same way.
Though “30 years old” is a tough pill to swallow, I’m enjoying the ride so far. It’s been significantly more stable the past few years.
Sliding into home plate has left less scratches and bruises than hitting the first ball.
In my early twenties, I didn’t know my ass from my face. And believe me, at times I felt I looked like nothing more than a big fat asshole.
At 20 I moved to Los Angeles to be a personal assistant and I thought I was cooler than cool. I had broken free from my small town in Upstate New York and was around the celebrities and industry that I grew up wanting to be a part of.
It was a good front; I actually felt extremely lost, confused, lonely and for the first time in my life, horribly insecure.
Of course, I wasn’t conscious of this at the time. Subconsciously I knew something was wrong and that is why I turned to drinking at home alone, finding comfort from the wrong people and ultimately going to therapy to make sense of why I was acting this way.
I meet a lot of young women in their early twenties acting the same way I did. It’s difficult for me not to spew unwanted advice upon them, but at the same time, I feel this need to prevent them from making the same mistakes I did. Maybe that’s what your early 20s are about though. Making the mistakes you are meant to make in order to become the person you’re meant to be. I don’t regret any of the mistakes I made (and there were one or two doozies), but would 20-25 been a lot more enjoyable if I didn’t make them? Sure.
If you’re a twenty-something that makes stupid mistakes and wonder why the f you’re doing them, it’s ok. It’s normal.
Now you just need to learn from them and not do them again.
I had my fair share of drunk dialing, dating assholes and being crushed when they broke up with me, trying to get back with those assholes, flaking out on my friends, dropping off the grid for days, forgetting birthdays, hiding in my room, spontaneously crying for no reason, leaving town so I could “find answers” somewhere else, using people for emotional support without giving much back in return and at times, being a dick to my family.
I one time drank a half a bottle of vodka alone and called every single person I knew and apologized for no reason. I then threw up something purple, that could have been blood, but I’m not quite sure.
I one time asked a dude who just broke up with me to meet me on Venice Beach. I arrived 30 minutes early so I could drink my flask. When he arrived, he couldn’t distinguish me between the homeless people sleeping on the sand.
I went out with a man who had a girlfriend (that one I regret because it was selfish and stupid).
I drove to San Francisco alone with no plan and no money because I thought it would make me feel better (it didn’t).
I had a relationship that border-lined on something from “50 Shades of Grey” but without the S&M.
I hated myself for all of that behavior, but I ended up learning from each mistake. I’m dating someone who actually wants to be with me, I no longer drink, I rarely cry (which may be a good or bad thing), I try to be the best friend I can be (I still have a ways to go) and I try to be a patient ear to my family instead of taking their emotional support and running.
It gets better, your twenties. The answers become clearer. You just have to be open to seeing them.