6

 I have lost a considerable amount of motivation to keep this blog going. This is how it always goes, and this is why I always buy a new journal before finishing the previous one. It is an infuriating trait I have been trying to force myself to get over.

I turned 34 a few days ago. It doesn't feel any different from 33. To be honest, I spent a long time even forgetting I was 33 until I realised my 34th birthday was approaching. After the age of 19, I reached a point of stagnation. In my heart, I remain 19. I realise that this is not a good thing, and is probably why some people think I am immature. Personally, I believe that the concept of maturity is not as linear as it is made out to be.

They say that those who endure childhood trauma are forced to mature early, due to their innocent illusion of the world being shattered too early and discovering what reality truly looks like. I noticed this in my teens, when I didn't find joy in the same things my peers did. I thought it was all beneath me. I felt I was ready to turn 18 and join the adult world.

I drank a lot when I turned 18. This is a rather typical rite of passage in England, so it didn't ring any alarm bells for me or anyone else. Even when it turned from going out every weekend, to trying to find friends who were free in the middle of a weekday to go to the pub. One specific pub became my "place" to be. It was more of a home than my actual home. I still vividly remember walking home while it was still light out, hazy-eyed and breathing heavily with about 6 pints of beer in my system. It didn't occur to me at the time that my day drinking habit was a problem, and that I specifically chose to drink during the day for a reason.

I did go on nights out as well, but there was something about the lack of daylight that made the drunken walk home significantly more depressing. I'd go from laughing and chatting with my friends at the pub, to walking home with only the moon for company, tears streaming down my face. I was deeply wounded, but I couldn't figure it out. I didn't have enough insight at this point in my life to understand why I was so deeply sad.

My sadness gradually shifted to indifference, and while I still sobbed on my walks home from the pub, I was also reckless. In the middle of the night I would be walking alone through dangerous footpaths. I am honestly shocked to my core to this day that I didn't get brutally attacked, killed, or kidnapped. I did have some level of fear of this happening at the time, to the point where I temporarily carried a knife. It was only until I had a nightmare that I accidentally stabbed an innocent person that I decided to stop carrying one.

One quiet night at the pub, I was with my friend Paul. It must have been a Tuesday, as nobody else was around. Paul and I were able to have a deeper conversation without being disturbed, which resulted in one of the most jarring experiences I have ever had.

We were discussing a girl I knew, who had recently opened up to me about her childhood abuse.

"It's more common than you think," said Paul. I nodded automatically.

"She's definitely not the only one..." I said, trailing off. Suddenly, it was as if a gate had burst open within my mind. A gate that had previously been locked tight. After swinging open, flashes from my own childhood leapt to the front of my brain. She's definitely not the only one.

I burst into tears. I managed to explain to Paul what just happened, and he nodded knowingly. He seemed to know I was damaged before I knew it myself.

I thought it couldn't be possible at all to be able to block out your traumatic memories, but that's exactly what I had done. There were huge gaps in my timeline and I never questioned it. My mind was merely trying to protect me, waiting until the appropriate time to unleash the memories of abuse.

Paul took me out of the pub, and we found a quiet street to sit on some steps. He rolled us a joint, lit it and handed it to me.

"You need this," he said. "It's never easy when you acknowledge this shit for the first time."

I was 19 when this happened. I had spent a year drinking myself to death, and I finally knew why. For some reason, 19 became the age I stayed in my soul. It felt as if something had died within me that night, and never revived. I was so ready to leave school and join all the other adults where I thought I belonged, but I regressed instead. I flew back to my lost childhood, yearning for the innocence and the lack of awareness. I just wanted to be a kid, a normal kid, but I lost my chance.

So, naturally, I lost all direction. I don't come across as the most mature 34 year old, but I don't even know what a normal 34 year old is supposed to fucking look like.