F***, I’m 30
I always feared the age of 30. It always sounded like the age where life gets serious. You’re officially an adult.
At the same time, I could never really imagine myself at 30 y/o. I had these concepts of who I would be. Successful and married. Rich. Internationally famous dancer. Or nothing. As someone who has had depression since 2017, I always considered the possibility of never getting that far.
But I did. I almost didn’t. After being fired from my last job, I hit rock bottom. I didn’t think I would be able to get out. I questioned myself, my life and the world in general. Life is too unfair. The world is damaged. Life is too painful, it’s not worthwhile. My friends started to get married, settle down. A lot of them moved, out of the city, out of the country. I remained. In the same city. Still single. Still living with my parents. Felt like everyone’s life was moving forward, and I was stuck. Frozen. Watching life happen, but not being part of it.
Things got a little better. I got a good job and felt at peace with my professional life for the first time ever. But turning 30 years old still hit hard. Still does, a little bit more every day.
I look back at life and can’t wrap my head around the last 12 years. What have I been doing? How did it go by so fast? I guess time really does fly when you’re fucked up in the head.
A wave of nostalgia took me the last few days. Remembering my early adulthood, when life felt so promising, when the future was so distant. Falling in love for the first time. Going to parties every week. Making memories, so, so many memories. Living, not existing. All those first times, all those first experiences. They’re gone. Those days are never coming back and, if I’m being honest, adult life doesn’t seem to be good. How do you make memories when you are working the majority of the time? How do you make friends? How do you keep your friends? So many questions, so many things that nobody teaches you. The range of first times and first experiences is smaller.
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I guess I’m supposed to settle down. Get married. Or not. Take things slow. But I don’t want to. But fighting against seems to be pointless. It’s a lonely fight. Everyone is going one way, you are the one going the opposite way, without even knowing where it’s leading you.
I’ve done a lot in those 30 years. I did things my younger self would never even dream of. She would be amazed. But there are things I haven’t done, and she would be as disappointed, as I am.
It’s scary, to be an adult. Everything is so serious. There’s not a lot of room for trying. So much is in stake.
The worst part is being 30 when you still want to be 18. Knowing that 40s comes next. But not knowing what you want to do with your life, your time and your existence. I just wanted to go back and live it all again. Savor it, cherish it, knowing how precious every single moment is and that, after some years, those memories are all that is left. And they are your most precious belonging.
People say depression is an excess of the past and I get it. I can’t face the present, nor the future, so I face the past over and over again because I can control it. It’s safe, it doesn’t change. I don’t have to make decisions. I know the outcomes. I love it so much more than the present.
I know I can’t live like that forever, but I don’t know how to live life in another way. I’m jealous of people that do and are happy about it.
I keep expecting that something extraordinary will happen. Something that makes me feel alive. Something that makes life feels more like living than surviving. Whatever that is.
All the things people say about the 30 crisis is real. Nothing could have prepared me for it. But people say 30 is the age of success, they better be right.
