Life After 23

"Struggle for Existence" at Broomhill Sculpture Gardens It's a pretty pathetic one, but but I have found a dream that I can carry past age 23.  I am holding fast to the possibility of resting from my current fight of existence. Every day is a struggle anymore.  Just to get out of bed is a noteworthy accomplishment.  If I have the energy to cook a meal or get laundry done, it's a red-letter day. I'm exhausted.  I'm tired of the war within myself to carry out even the simplest of tasks. My body's convulsions have left me drained, with every muscle fiber and nerve ending aching in intense pain.  Dragging myself off the floor after each seizure and pretending it's no big deal is exasperating.   I am sick of the massive effort and concentration I expend just to communicate verbally.   Simply keeping up with the group's pace, be it walking in the mall or making it to the dinner table on time, overworks me physically and emotionally.   Unt...

In a couple of months, I will leave age 23 behind forever.  I realize that I am still young, but for the first time in my life, I am not happy about reaching my next birthday.  When I was a kid, I couldn't imagine myself not wanting to get older.  Now, I can't imagine wanting my age to increase. For as long as I can remember, I have had well-established dreams and goals for my life.  By the time I hit middle school, I had a plan.  I would go to a small university, preferably one like Camp bell University, and major in something government related.  Hopefully a fellow I wanted to date would come along during that time.  I would graduate with honors and use that education to make a difference in the lives of the unborn and their mothers facing crisis pregnancies.  Marriage would follow on the heels of college, preferably to a man modeled after my childhood best friend.  While I continued to work with ministry to the unborn, my husband and I w...