Demons

Sometimes you wake up with demons.

They don't announce their presence right away, but, by the time you're fully settled into your morning, right around the time you're waking up and trying to be a fully functioning adult human, they pounce.

This morning was such a morning, and lucky for me, the demons stuck around all day. 

Being a big feeler of big feelings, sometimes my greatest fear is losing people. The demons know that, and they prey on it.

When I was a young girl, playing on the playground, under the nurturing branches of the friendship oak, I lost a person.

Her name was Naomi, and she was my "best friend." Despite the happenings of that day, Naomi remained my "best friend" for a few years after that, but on that particular day, she was feeling a little mean. On that day, she announced, "I'm no longer your best friend; I'm Heather's best friend." And off she went to play with Heather, leaving me a big puddle of emotional trauma and scabbed knees.

There are moments in life that define you, and looking back, I guess that was one of my moments. When asked by those that love me, "why do you lack any self-confidence or self-worth," I don't really have a good answer. I grew up in the loving arms of loving parents. I was reminded on a daily basis how great I was. But for some reason, I always focused on those moments like the one on the playground. In spite of all the love and care, I couldn't seem to get past the self-doubt.

When I lost Naomi that day, I didn't really lose her completely. As I said, we remained friends for a few years after that, although I eventually moved away, thus ending our grade school relationship. No, instead of losing Naomi completely, I think I lost a little bit of my trust in people. And with that loss of trust, friendship became a bit of a pattern for me.

Wish for friends. Get friends. Don't fully trust friends. Let anxiety dictate friendship. Lose friends.

As a 35 year-old adult, I now know what true friendship is.

There are no best friends. Love and friendship can't be boiled down to labels. My friends today know me for who I am, warts and all, anxiety and all, self-doubt and all. And yet, they still choose to love me. They choose to be there on days like today, when the demons are bad.

And, today, I woke up with demons. And they're still here. They remind me of the child version of me and tell me that everyone will eventually get fed up with me; they tell me that everyone will eventually abandon me. They dig in with their claws and rip apart what little trust I have in others.

With the help of my friends and family and love, they will subside, these demons. They will gradually hide away, lulling me into a false sense of confidence and security, waiting in the shadows for that next moment of weakness, waiting to kick me while I'm down. On that day, like today, they will feast upon the insecurities of a woman who never really grew up from the child who could never really see how incredible she was and is.

The truth of me: zit, mascara smudged from tears, lips hopelessly chapped.

The Grown-up Birthday

Happy Birthday to me. Yay birthdays. Please read both of these statements with the sarcasm with which they were intended. Trust me when I say, I do. 

One candle too many.

When did I really grow up? When did birthdays become more of a chore and less of a happy day to look forward to? When I was a little girl, heck even when I was a teenager, I can remember looking forward to birthdays with such excitement and enthusiasm that I could barely sleep at night. I would count down the days with anticipation and fervor, gleefully imagining the cake, the presents, the intense joy of the day. 

I'm most definitely not a little girl anymore. Don't let me fool you completely. I still get excited. As I've said before, I'm a pretty excitable kind of person. I get excited about the simple things in life: the food, the deep, engrossing conversations with my hubby, the craziness of the cats, the dry wit and lovable humor of my crazy family. But my birthday? Not so much anymore. 

I'm 28. There, I said it. And no, I'm not going to pretend that I'm as old as the hills when I know good and well that I'm in my twenties and have no right to be complaining about age. But I think I have finally reached that age where age seems a little more important than it used to. The significance of the number is not so important as the number it's bringing me closer to: 30. Thirty's not old either. I realize that. But thirty is officially out of the twenties...and that's a little scary. There are so many things that I want to do by 30, so many things I want to have accomplished. I look at other women the same age as me, and even in some cases younger than me, and I see all that they've accomplished, and I think to myself, what the hell have you done lately?

Sure, I'm pretty successful. If not in career, then in life. I have a wonderful husband who adores me (and whom I adore), a solid roof over my head, and three cats who may or may not want to kill me. Plus, I have the most rocking family that a girl could ever ask for. I pretty much have everything I could possibly want for my birthday...which is maybe why birthdays aren't quite as exciting as they used to be.

So in an effort to up the excitement level a tad, I came up with a birthday wish list of things I'd like for (either on or before) my thirtieth birthday...two years from today:

1) A Career as a Writer. Notice, this one is NUMBER ONE for a reason, and if I got this, I really wouldn't care so much about the rest. When I first graduated college, I tried the whole freelancing thing. Didn't quite work out. Turns out a freelance writer's income (at least when they start out) is pretty sporadic-like. Pretty soon I realized I would either be living with my parents forever or starving to death in some match-box apartment if I didn't come up with a day job. Before my thirtieth birthday, I want writing to BE my day job.

 2) Travel to Ireland Japan Somewhere Anywhere Outside the US.  I don't want to wake up one day and realize that my life has passed me by without fulfilling my dream to travel...at least once...outside the US.

3) To Finish My Novel. I only started this a few months ago, but in two years, if I haven't finished it, I'm going to kick my own ass.

4) Hardwood Floors in Living Room and Hallway. Ah, my shallow, materialistic wish. Jeremy and I aren't like a lot of families nowadays. When we purchased our home, we purchased it with the express intent of living in it until we retire and beyond. This isn't a "starter home" for us (and I'm not saying anything about anyone who buys homes this way...it just isn't for us); it's a forever home. I have roots in this place, and I want to grow old here and make as many improvements along the way as we can.

5) Baby. Baby Not. I want to have the whole Baby Question figured out by thirty. If we don't know by then, we're going to figure it out.

Now don't all y'all rush out and spend all your money getting me these things just yet. Remember we've got a couple of years to go, and as fickle as I am, I'll probably have changed my mind on what I want by then. In the meantime, I'll enjoy this my twenty-eighth birthday, my grown-up birthday of too many candles and never enough cake.