escapethevines

I’m at a strange stage in my life at the moment. I don’t really know what to think…

I’ve often been told I have an old soul. I never fully understood what people meant by that remark, I thought I may have been a little mature for my age. Now, I think I see what they where referring to.

If I look back over my life, I usually do it with fond memories. But tonight, I came to a conclusion. I’m old. I’m old beneath my skin. So old, in fact, I don’t really know who I am. And I know how that sounds; such a cliché phrase. But I’m not necessarily saying with a shadow of sadness, it’s more with an exclamation of finally understanding.

My whole life I have felt just a little outside. Not quite in on the joke. Don’t get me wrong, I have always had friends. I’ve just never been close to somebody on a deeper level. Because of this, for the last few years, I have constantly been asking myself whether there is something wrong with me. Maybe there is and I just don’t see it. I guess I’ll never know…

Having that unanswered question in my head, lead me to thinking as to why I feel so out of place.

When I was 7 years old I told my mother that my bedtime should be extend as I was lying awake at night anyway. she told me outright that 7.30 was a very appropriate bedtime for a 7 year old. Then, when I was 12, I asked my mother if we could change my bedtime. Again, she told me that for the age I was at, I was going to bed at a very reasonable hour. This went on until I realised it was never up to my mother what time I fell asleep, only the time I went to bed.

When I was 14, I got drunk for the first time. I was hanging out with some friends of mine who were a couple of years above me in school. I only became friends with these people because I danced with them. I was the first in my group at school to drink excessively.

At 15 I lost my virginity. I felt safe about it at the time, it was right. I was the first in my group to have sex.

At 16 years old, I was oh so very ready to leave home. My mother was trying to be my best friend and live vicariously through my activities, my brother was taking all my mother’s “motherly” attention, and I need to meet new people. I was stuck. Stuck in a town where everyone knows everything about you. Stuck in a routine that rolled on forever like clock, until the batteries died, and so would I. None of my friends felt as trapped as I did and I didn’t understand why.

At 18, I’d had enough. I had to get out. The walls were creeping in on me, suffocating me to the point where I’d cry for hours about nothing. Everybody I associated with seemed happy with the way their life was. They didn’t crave the change I did.

I sucked it up for one more year to earn money. Then, I ran.

I’ve never had a partner. Don’t feel sorry for me. It is what it is. But in the last year, I have craved the affirmation of someone loving me. I’m not stupid, I’m not fat, ugly, mean, or closed. In fact, to me truly honest, I’m quite smart, I dance so I’m fairly fit, I think I’m fairly beautiful, I’ve been in magazines. I get told I am so open to new friendships that I overwhelm people with my kindness and generosity. I am so, so ready to meet people. I love change, new things. I used to not understand why I couldn’t meet a man. And now I know…

I’m old. I’m old beneath my skin. So old, in fact, that people don’t understand me. They take me at face value. If I don’t contribute to an intellectual conversation, I’m stupid.

I have now gone one step further. I am ridiculously maternal. Having a baby is completely out of the question when it comes to my career and my age. But I crave it. I’ve gotten to the point where I see babies on the train, snuggled up in a pram, and I can’t keep my eyes off them. I’ve had mother change seats so I don’t stare. 

People say maturity is a good thing. They say the fact that I analyse every singly little thing in my life is a sign of real intelligence. Apparently my relationships will be fulfilling and prosperous. I can understand what they are saying but I’m lost.

I’m lost.

I’m too mature for my own good. It’s crippling me. My maturity is my disability. And I can’t do anything about it.

My skin is smooth and my smile large, but inside my mind is wrinkled. At 20 I am old. I’m afraid of being 30, 40. What if I die at 50? Die of old age. Die of sadness. Of loneliness. 

I’m at a strange stage in my life at the moment. I don’t really know what to think…

I was never 100% sure about it anyway.

It’s here. It’s happened. I think he knows.

The smiles, the giggles, his cuddles in bed.

He picks me a daisy, I carry it home, beside my body a new body blows.

.

As we walk we confide, our hands in each other

Questioning existence, we find new-found wisdom.

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When did this happen? It’s moving so fast.

He’s here most nights, how long will that last?

Tonight he is gone, to return in the morning

With sunshine and bird’s song and the warmest of cuddles.

.

But what if it rains? What if there’s cloud?

Will he know I’m still here, yearning his touch?

His skin on my skin, his hand on my breast? His face in my hair, his breath in my breath?

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Something tells me he will but will I understand?

.

I think he suspects

I need him more than he needs me,

But he wants this more than I want he.