Today is my birthday

If you want to get technical, I was born at 5:17 pm, so I'm not officially nineteen yet. I remember when nineteen seemed so impossibly far away. I thought it was such an old and grown up age to be. I thought I would have everything figured out by nineteen.

When I was little, I always had a specific age in mind that, for whatever reason, meant "grown up" to me. It was twelve for years, and then sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. I seemed to think that by the time I made it that far, I would have become the person in my head that I imagined my best self would be. I would be smart and beautiful and powerful and socially competent. I would be confident and my life would be in control and everyone would stop treating me like a kid.

Of course, one birthday passed, and then another, and I never seemed to get any closer to being "grown up." I was the same person each new day as the one I was the day before. And yet, I am absolutely not the same as I was seven years ago, or four years ago, or even just one year ago. Being more "grown up" than I used to be is only part of it.

I really am the same person as I have always been, with all the same strange personality quirks. I've learned and I've grown and I have a more developed world view. I don't think that all the things that make me fundamentally me have changed, though. I've just....adapted.

It's not even something that I notice is happening, though. I just live, and sometimes I look back and realize how far I've come.

Broken

Someone once said that there is a crack in everything, and that's how the light gets in. He was confused, because cracks let the light out. Maybe all the cracks make me beautiful and unique, but Nietzsche said that "there are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth," and I think he was right. 

People never look past the surface. They see two dark eyes peering out from long lashes, but they miss that the darkness is not simply the color of my irises. The light has leaked out of cracks in my soul and left the windows to it dull and empty. 

Did Ophelia drown in a pond, or in her own despair? Because drowning doesn't require water. You can get so stuck inside of yourself that the barrage of emotions or the absolute emptiness cuts off the air and sky and drowns you beneath the waves of your own mind. 

The cracks are like joints and old injuries that ache when it rains. Sometimes it hurts without the rain. Sometimes it rains, and it doesn't hurt. Its hard to tell why or when the ache will come, but when it does, it carves out the rest of me like a pumpkin, and moves into the hollow space left behind. 

I've learned that I'm stronger than I ever though I was. I've learned to judge others less and have more empathy. I've learned that sometimes, I should just stifle my pride and admit I'm not okay, and that I need help. In many ways, its been a blessing. 

Its true that I'm a little broken, and I guess that's okay, because we all are in some way. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less.