Twenty-One Revelations: The Makings of a 'Proper' Adult.

“Pictures all around, of how good a life should be, a model for the rest, that bred insecurity.” 
― Ian Curtis

Harking back to my post last year on the eve of my twenty-first birthday for a moment, I wrote a blog post entitled 'New age: Same old shit'. It was bitter, as you can surmise from the title, but also questioning of what adulthood was, what 21 (the age of majority) actually meant or changed. 

I reflected on Stephen Fry's autobiography Moab Is My Washpot, the way he described his teenage belief that adulthood meant the dismissal of certain ideas - with ageing comes a banality of sorts, where the mundane aspects of every day life take hold - there is no room for that 'youthful', idealistic spirit.

I was not in the least bit excited to turn twenty-one, nor am I in a rush to age another year, but it'll happen regardless - as most things you don't want to occur, do.

I turned twenty-one thinking that I'd be thrust into the world and suddenly regarded as an adult, a 'proper' adult. When you become eighteen people still pity you a bit, they're more forgiving of your mistakes, you're learning what the real world is all about. By twenty-one, that's gone to some extent. However, I found once I began my Masters degree, people still called me a 'baby' in comparison to themselves, they still allowed for my mistakes and awkwardness when having to speak publicly.

Maybe last year I was so worried because I assumed people expected everything to fall into line for me. I'd have to finish my degree, choose a career path, get a job, find a partner, have a social life and still contribute time to social events, family and friends. Some of that was expected of me, to an extent, but most of it I expected for myself. I placed so much emphasise on age and how I imagined it, I just assumed that was what everyone else thought as well. Twenty-one hasn't really been great, but it wasn't the expectations that come with age that made the year so rubbish, it was myself and my own expectations.

I have finished my (first) degree, that made my Mum and Dad so proud. It was one of the best days of 2013, despite having to wear a ridiculous cape, fur shrug-thing and winking at the Vice-Chancellor out of nervousness. I have some sort of a social life and I've always made time for family and friends, who are my family. Perhaps I don't give them as much time as I would like to, but I've always thought it's far better for them to miss me, than to deal with me while I'm being hounded by the Black Dog.

The Black Dog, that will be the icon of my twenty-first year. I've been depressed for a life time it seems, but this year it was almost constant. Every. Single. Day. I'd wake up, be happy and then I'd be so down by nightfall. All it took was a harsh word, a criticism, any sort of failure and I'd plummet. It's very hard to pick yourself up again when you're so down, particularly if you have filled your life with mostly lovely people - they were always concerned. It always concerns me when my mood concerns them.

But I also lost a friend this year. Well no, I lost many friends who couldn't cope with me suddenly staying in bed for days or weeks at a time. A person who suddenly wasn't there, mentally or physically. I understand that, it hurt for a long time, it still does - but I understand. It's forgivable. However, I lost a friend for life, she died.

My friend Sarah hounded me for weeks on end, constantly bombarded me with the worst sorts of words and encouraged suicidal thoughts and tendencies - she arguably wasn't a great friend. But she was there. She was alive and real. Despite causing me so much pain, physically and mentally, she was there when I was alone, until suddenly she wasn't.

The one night I didn't respond to her, the one night I separated myself from her mania, she died. I woke up and she was gone. Gone in a way that was particularly painful for me, because it was my method, not hers. My lasting impact on her life, noted by the way she died. I'll never forget feeling as though my heart had exploded, being engulfed by guilt, the horror and feeling responsible for her death. Sarah was special. Sarah will always be special to me and for that reason, I won't wander down this path any longer. It's still raw, I still miss her. When a person passes, it should be realised and remembered, no one should just cease to exist without leaving a trace. I can't say her name yet without being crushed my sorrow, but I will again - with time.

Whenever I think of Sarah now, it's during times when I feel as though my darkness and sadness is a pathogen. That I'm a sick person and look, look at what I did to someone indirectly! What if I do that to everyone? Why don't I stop this now? I'll never be at ease or completely reassured that I'm not bringing people 'down', that I'm not going to drive someone insane with my darkened presence. It will always be a reason to disengage from everybody else.

Having a storm cloud hanging over your head isn't the mark of turning twenty-one, it's the sign of an illness, regardless of age. I think what I have learnt from becoming a 'proper' adult is that there is no such thing as a 'proper' adult. Most people do the best they can, while behaving childishly at times. That's it. Any expectation you have or had for becoming an adult is almost entirely your own. Sure, society says 'get a job you punk kid'. Whether or not you actually become employed is still entirely your own decision. Even if you do, I'm not sure that qualifies you for adulthood.

The only thing I believe marks adulthood is responsibility, or rather, taking responsibility for yourself and your actions. That qualifies you for the role. It's not a question of age, it's a question of behaviour really. Some fit the bill, some don't.

Everything I do, everything I plan to do, I know is entirely my own choice and the consequences of those choices are my own doing. There's no getting around that at 21 (about to be 22). I accept that. If I cause happiness, that's fantastic. If I cause pain or suffering to another human being, that's my own fault. I have to accept that too. Despite having a Government and Prime Minister who are apparently all adults, (even though they don't adhere to my definition of adulthood) and can't even muster up an apology - responsibility is key. Don't let Abbott fool you. He's just a child in a man's suit.

I do hope, turning 22, the rest of these 'proper' adults will allow me to join their club. I'm far too jaded to be a teenager and I'd rather not deal with horrible skin again thanks.

…Twenty-two though! I mean really!

“Oh sorry, I was taking life seriously.” 
― Bill Hicks

New age: Same old shit.

"Life is only a dream and we are the imagination of ourselves."
Bill Hicks

One of the things that really struck me reading Stephen Fry's first autobiography Moab Is My Washpot, was the letter he wrote for his future self (for when he was 25), as a seventeen year old teen, who would later attempt suicide. Now this letter stuck for me two main reasons, it was slightly presumptuous, you don't know if you'll actually be alive to read it (suicide attempts generally shorten those odds) and the fact that this letter was so moving. He described a complete transformation from teen to adult, from thoughts of freedom and idealism to the banal mind of an adult. 

The reason I'm reproducing my thoughts about this letter now, is because it is the eve of my 21st birthday. The age of majority and "adulthood," whatever that means. I'm still trying to work it all out. The thought of writing a letter to myself doesn't appeal to me at all, but Fry's reasons behind writing it do. The realisation that everything you think is so significant and important to you now, may not be the case in the future, as life generally wears you down, is terrifying really. Does that mean 5 years from now, when I hopefully have some sort of career, I won't be as passionate about certain ideas or people, like the words of Bill Hicks? Hopefully this isn't the case, because that would kill me. I can't imagine a 9-5 job, debt and general weariness as being the ideal life for me. At least Fry did escape this, in my opinion anyway, he still seems as passionate about life as ever.

Turning 21 still doesn't sound that fun though. I typically don't care much for birthdays, other people's births I will celebrate, my own I won't. Personally it's all a bit hyped up and we should actually be thanking our parents on the day of our birth, our mothers especially, they did do all the work. I've also had absolutely no luck on the 22nd of November, it marks the anniversary of JFK's assassination, Michael Hutchence's death and the day each year I am very disappointed with life and stuck listening to INXS, with some JFK documentary on in the background. Anticipation of the day, I think, is better than the day itself. 

My plans for the coming year though, well, they're quite limited. I don't really have any aspirations or dreams, apart from travelling the world and discovering some form of enlightenment. As for a career, I'm stumped. I've never really shown an aptitude for any particular career path or skill. I do lack talent, but am lucky enough to be surrounded by talented friends. I think that sort of makes up for it. Maybe the reason I'm so dreading turning 21 is that, now that I have finished University, people are expecting me to pursue some dream career and in the case of my family, settle down and start a family as soon as possible. The latter expectation may be put on hold indefinitely, I don't see it ever happening. The first part though, that I should really start working on.

So I guess it's goodbye teens and being part of the weird inbetweener group. Twenty wasn't that great an age anyway, or possibly it was average and external events ruined and tarnished it for me. All I know is I won't look back on being twenty with fondness. Maybe this year can be better? I hope so, I doubt it though.

21 - it's probably going to suck. Let's wait and see. 

I had to end with my favourite quote from Bill Hicks. I hope I do always cherish his ideas.

"The world is like a ride in an amusement park, and when you choose to go on it you think it's real because that's how powerful our minds are. The ride goes up and down, around and around, it has thrills and chills, and it's very brightly colored, and it's very loud, and it's fun for a while. Many people have been on the ride a long time, and they begin to wonder, "Hey, is this real, or is this just a ride?" And other people have remembered, and they come back to us and say, "Hey, don't worry; don't be afraid, ever, because this is just a ride." And we … kill those people. "Shut him up! I've got a lot invested in this ride, shut him up! Look at my furrows of worry, look at my big bank account, and my family. This has to be real." It's just a ride. But we always kill the good guys who try and tell us that, you ever notice that? And let the demons run amok … But it doesn't matter, because it's just a ride. And we can change it any time we want. It's only a choice. No effort, no work, no job, no savings of money. Just a simple choice, right now, between fear and love. The eyes of fear want you to put bigger locks on your doors, buy guns, close yourself off. The eyes of love instead see all of us as one."
Bill Hicks