30 is the new 30

sometime many, many years ago, you decided you would not live until age 30. you would not deal with the number, the age, and given your obsession with death and suicide, well, it seemed like, statistically, you weren't going to make it anyways. and if you did, well, that would be the last day. you had it all planned out if it came to that day. you'd finish what you tried to do almost 11 years ago. you would turn 30 and then you would never turn anything again. you never wanted to live long. you never wanted to see more of life than what you had.

you were 29 when you realized you had a change of heart. you suppose it's never to late to change. you are going to see your 30th birthday, and you are going to enjoy it. part of you still doesn't understand how or why it happened. but it did. you have plans, ones that don't involve death or falling or cutting. plans that involve music and kissing and hugging and love. you tear up writing about it, this very second, black letters appearing on a white background on a 21 inch screen. you feel thankful, lucky, like you made it through something. like you won the lottery. your fiancée tells you she is taking the entire day off to be with you. you wonder if you are a burden. a few weeks ago she came home and found you asleep with a knife on the table next to you and a strong dose of xanax running through your veins. she surprises you with coffee and hugs and songs and speeches and you think you could never offer anything like that to anyone, and that she is so much better than you. but she says she loves you, no matter what, that you are always good enough. and then you realize it is not a contest, not a scoreboard, not a 'you do this, I do that' but a 'you love me, i love you' and, well, it all clicks into place. when you turn 30 you will turn 30, and then you will turn 31, and you will keep going until your bones decay and your body breaks down. you hope that day, when you stop turning, when it all comes to an end, is very, very far away.