Turning 23, 25, that was like, “AHHH I’m so old now”! But you pretty much feel the same, you don’t feel the weight of the years that preceded you so acutely. Sure– maybe you’re a bit burdened or haunted– but those experiences still feel like your own. I swear, I hit 27 and I’m looking back on my life like I’m telling it to my home-health aid from hospice. I’m sharing stories or remembering versions of myself that feel so far out of reach, it almost gives me pause. I find myself second-guessing; did I really do that? I felt those things, in real-time? I was there? That was me?

When I reminisce aloud, it’s like I’m doing a stand-up set about someone else’s story. I’ve got the lines down (I’ve performed ’em a trillion times before) but my heart’s not in it, cuz it feels like I’m taking credit for someone else’s achievements. Like my past self is more of a funny/sentimental anecdote than they are an extension of me. To be completely fair, maybe it’s not some curse attached to getting older. Maybe it’s more specific, like a virus that lays dormant in your body. And it only activates if, by your 27th birthday, you still lack meaningful direction or a sense of true purpose. Symptoms include: dehydration, depersonalization, muscular dystrophy. But, if you manage to sort all that junk out in time, the virus is snuffed out. You remain wholly embodied, connected to your past and future, rather than being frozen in uncomfortable stasis. Something like that.

I wish I had some Cosmic How-To Manual that would detail exactly what it’ll take to return to myself. Sitting in my car this morning I (in disgustingly corny fashion) reached out my hand to an invisible, younger me. Not some wholesome “inner-child” bit either, but like, 24-year-old me. Cuz he was literally trying to hard to get me the help I now have, and I want him to know I’m grateful for it even when I feel far away from him. And while I was conducting my own goofy therapy session before work, a few tears managed to penetrate my Lexapro’s Wall of Emotional Dampening. For better or for worse, I don’t know. But in that moment, it became super obvious that I’m dealing with the same beast that has followed me around forever. Grief.

(Oh jeez, is Jasper’s writing about grief again? Do bears shit in the woods?)

The realization struck pretty quick once I actually allowed myself a few distraction-free moments to like… feel the feelings in my body. Grief comes equipped with a couple of different sensations, but in my experience, it most often feels like a combination of a crumbling in your chest/stomach, and this Alice in Wonderland spatial effect, like the world is contorting around you and time warps with it. Grief also smells weird, like the smell you get right after hitting your nose on something. (Blood? Is that blood smell? Anyways–) Grief typically nags at first too, like a child tugging on your sleeve asking the same question every 10 seconds. And when you’re having a bad day it’s like, “Jesus Christ, can you give me a minute?”, but you don’t respond like that because you can recognize it’s just this distressed and lonely thing that yearns for your attention.

Grieving yourself really isn’t all that different from grieving your dead people, or your past friendships. I mean, some might say it’s a little egotistical but eh, I compulsively self-assess, sue me. It’s a long process– getting over yourself. But I really am trying. My hope is that, in embracing the general suckedness and the uncertainty, I will grow into someone who feels capable of pulling myself out of it.

Between the specialist appointments, the new meds, my cool chore board, and my journaling, I feel like I’m doing a good job setting future-me up for success. I feel way less crazy now that my brain chemicals are balanced, I’m not an exposed nerve personified anymore, which gives me a warm sense of stability. Still gotta sort out the whole “eating” and “sleeping” part of being alive, but ya know, day by day.

I’m just writing this to be honest, to vent a little. To say I am sad, but also I’ve never not been a little sad, so all things considered, I am really proud of me even if it feels like (outside looking in) there’s not a ton to be proud of. Internally, we’ve gone from Spongebob throwing files over a flaming office, to the dog with the mug in a flaming house. Shit is still on fire but I am being way more chill about it! I don’t wanna get my hopes up too high, but maybe someday there won’t even be a fire at all!