As of tomorrow, July 21st I will be one month away from being twenty years old. That will be two decades of my life already gone. 14 spent knowing my Dandelion, 8 years since my move, and less than a year spent knowing my own self. It’s strange to me that I’ve been alive this long, but I feel like I’m just starting. I just moved out, I’m doing things on my terms, and damn, I love my life.
I never thought I would make it this far, to be honest. I just never was able to imagine myself starting a family or moving out or moving up, but things are starting to look up a lot more than I ever imagined.
These almost 20 years haven’t been a breeze, they’ve been dusty and messy and scrambled, but look at me, I’m here. I’m standing, I’ve got scars, but hell, who doesn’t. I have the people I love around me telling me they are here for me, and I’ve got one strong heart and two stubborn feet.
I am keeping up on my tattoo collection, and as of Saturday I now have 3 lovely new layers of skin total.
I’ve reached a “no bullshit” level with everyone. I’m sick of sugarcoating things and treating shitty people nicely. I am currently living with my amazing boyfriend, and saving up what I can for a big tattoo next year, and eventually, a motorcycle.
It’s going to be weird to not be a teenager anymore.
It’s thrilling, really.