Turning Twenty-Seven

Although 27 really isn't a milestone birthday for most people, it feels like a big one to me because it is the first birthday on which I actually feel some sort of awareness. Over the past year, I have undergone an awakening of sorts. In fact, now that I think about it, this transformation has actually been occurring since the moment I left Buffalo four years ago.

Recently I've been ruminating over my decision to leave Buffalo. It wasn't really a decision as much as a compulsion. I'd always hated living in Buffalo because I felt like I exhausted my options here and I was just ready to move on to bigger and better things. Things that I didn't (and still don't) think were available in Buffalo.

I chose Pittsburgh because I was in love. I was in love with someone I met when I was 15, and after I had driven down to visit him numerous times, I fell in love with the city that he called home. I think I knew deep down that the love connection wasn't really going to work out. First loves rarely do. But I still loved the city.

So I moved. And it was awesome. The first year was absolutely fantastic. I worked full-time as a head server at an Italian restaurant. I played an integral part in developing their wine list. I was able to afford all of my bills with extra spending money, I had a car, I had a single apartment and kept it clean. I had the intentions of applying to graduate school.   

So what happened?

Somewhere things went wrong. The love of my life drifted away from me. I discovered painkillers and cocaine and finally gave in to the illness that had really been tugging at my shirt-sleeves since I was a teenager.

I miss the early days, before my disorder got so out of control that I couldn't keep myself together. I moved to Pittsburgh four months after I turned 23. As I find myself back in Buffalo, turning 27, I feel like I am right where I was in 2010, except now I'm just slightly more stable.

I've finally followed through with my earlier intention to apply to graduate school. This summer I may find myself moving out of state again -- to Seattle, to State College, or to Boston. I'm now aware of the disorder that blindsided me two years ago. I'm more vigilant and self-aware.

But am I capable of living on my own? Will I ever be? Can I ever recover from the damage that has been done in the past 4 years? Can I keep up with the necessary maintenance required for my disorder?

My credit has been pretty terrible since I turned 18, I lost my license two years ago, and I haven't worked in 9 months. I got hand tattoos that I absolutely love but deep down kind of regret. My nose has been broken twice, I had a concussion, my spine is compressed and my whole body is often stiff and sore. I owe a ton of money for medical bills and I can't even begin to think about how many personal items I've lost in the process of moving, escaping bad relationships, and drunkenness.

Twenty-seven is a big birthday for me because I'm now aware enough to be able to ask these questions. It's a big birthday because it's the year that I turn my life around and start moving in a positive direction again. It's the year I take responsibility for myself and my actions and continue with the changes that I've already begun to make. I will find meaning again.