Chapter 1: My 20th Birthday

I don’t think that a passage talking about not feeling twenty should begin with anything less than my twentieth birthday. It only makes sense…
I was born in May 10th, back in 1996. At two thirty in the afternoon, my mother gave birth to me in a hospital’s room, surrounded by her family and ‘friends’. Fast forward it twenty years, it is May 10th 2016 and it’s a Tuesday…
There’s not much to this birthday – people wish me ‘Happy Birthday’ on Facebook, but it doesn’t feel like much. There’s something missing – there’s some sort of empty spot all around my happy, exclusively dedicated to my day, that’s making me sad and nauseated. I wake up late, the day isn’t pretty, my friends treat wishing me as just another routine and my sister and I are in cold water. My twentieth birthday, this supposed grave milestone of my life, is just another, dull day in which I accomplish nothing and my friends just hang around with no special purpose.
To be fairly honest, I don’t think it’s the day that did me wrong. There are days that go perfectly and then there are some that just go wrong… Some things are meant to be nice and some aren’t. However, in that specific day, while I dressed myself to go get supplies for the ‘party’ I felt somewhat inadequate. Something inside was making me feel like this wasn’t right, this couldn’t be right. And I know that this part was, absolutely right.
If I could isolate the problem, I guess I’d have to say that it is I don’t feel twenty yet. Think about it; think about how many things I’ve dreamt of my life as a child. I was a baby, an anti-social, out-casted, chubby girl, who longed social interaction and friendship but never got anything. I wanted to be involved, to be a part of something nice, a part of those groups I saw around me and I envied. But I wasn’t – I was never involved. And so I went on to create something in my head. I pictured my future as this amazing time, in which I look gorgeous, I’m educated and an intellectual, I’m surrounded by people I love and I have money to get me things I like, while I party and I laugh and I dance and I have a good time. But no; this is not the case. I’m twenty years old, I’ve been out to clubs three, maybe four times, I need to be drunk to have fun in social interactions, I’m still a loner and I have no actual friends. This is really not how I pictured it…
So yes, I don’t feel twenty yet. And it’s so depressing. I’ve been lusting over the time that I’d turn twenty, that I’d be able to do so many great things with my life and my choices and everything else… But I’m not doing any of that. Instead, my birthday was just another day, just another passage of time while nothing interesting happens, and I feel guilty for not making my friends have a good time. My twenty-first birthday will shortly arrive and nothing will have changed, nothing will have happened. It almost feels as if time passes and I can’t grasp it, I can’t make myself move forward with it and do something about my youth expiring. And it feels so sad. And it’s making me so depressed.
I don’t feel twenty yet…