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  • Writer's pictureGlow

I'll Only Live Once

Young, Neurotic, and Disabled

Do you remember the whole YOLO movement that occurred around 2012? Every brand promoted teenagers bungee jumping off of bridges because, eh, why not? You only live once. At the time I was 16, but I wasn’t your average 16-year-old. I was your overly responsible, hyperventilating before finals (that’s a lie. I had all A’s so I never had to take a final) type of teen. The type who knew what she wanted to do with her life when she was about nine. She also knew where she was going to live. If you pushed her she would give you the address of her future apartment complex. Let's just say I started having anxiety attacks when I was 10 and had my first full-blown panic attack at 17, and yes, don’t worry I will write further about that in another post. So, this whole YOLO movement to me was self destructive. It was stupid. It was a waste of time. You have to plan shit out to utilize every second of your life. In my late pubescent mind the idea of letting destiny, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, to take control was piss your Burberry trousers scary. Now here’s the part where I explain why. I am not an average neurotic young woman. I am a physically disabled, neurotic, young woman who is slowly, but surely dealing with that issue. But, when I wake up one morning and feel a tickle in my chest the thought “fuck my life” hovers over my forehead as a LED billboard, and I try to not show that I’m worried, but the billboard rats me out, and those closest to me will ask “what happened? Are you sick?” the fuck do I know if I’m sick? I clearly always answer no to that question, because who the hell would answer yes before going to the doctors? That just sounds like bad juju to me. My point is mortality and I are pen pals, and every time there’s a tickle in my chest that’s her saying “What’s up bitch?”. For those who don’t understand my humor, I could die, every time I visit the hospital I have a higher chance of dying. The irony of it all: I never plan those visits.

I guess I might have actually been jealous of those who adopted the YOLO movement because it means they had the choice of what to do with their future. They were carefree. If they did jump off a bridge… well, they could jump off a bridge. Growing up I never felt like I had many options for my future, so “you only live once” was terrifying because what was the type of life I brought here to live? Was I going to end up in a fucking retirement home at 23, with Gertrude as my roommate? I mean I’m sure she’s lovely, but I don’t care about her flapjack recipe. Or, was I meant to live up to 23 and be an inspiration to those who never actually got to know me? Thus, we fast forward to 2018 where I currently sit in the state of mind of not filtering my words. That is my YOLO because if life is as humorous, and twisted as I think is, and I pass at 43 instead I want the world to know who I truly am. Fucks, shits, dammits, and everything. Since then I’ve gone to SCAD, and I’m currently a senior studying fashion marketing as a major, and costume design as a minor. Long story short: I’m still neurotic, and every time I blink I’m thinking of ways to make a difference in this world, in addition to making money. Damn, I love money, I really need money, but then again, different blog post. I’ve checked most of the first boxes in my lifelong list, so I’m trying to plan in some time to stop and smell the roses. It’s my neurotic way of not being neurotic. My little loophole in the system. Because, after all, chances are in this possible matrix we call life you only live once.

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