On November 13th, I turned 20 years old! I know..it’s still hard for me to say! I got all nostalgic as I took in the last couple of hours of my teen years. I began reflecting on the years between 14 to the end of 19. I read through every journal, revisited those years of my life, and the result of this huge act of nostalgia can be found below.
This was all written in my journal beginning on the night of the 12th, and ending last night. I hope you enjoy my stroll down memory lane 🙂
Happy Birthday to Me 11/12/14
I have an hour and a half left to be a teenager…wow. I’m feeling very nostalgic at the moment. My teenage years definitely had some ups and downs. I traveled, fell in love, fell out of love, made friends, lost friends, drank some, smoked some, and loved A LOT…I lived.
At 14, I got my first taste of life as a teenager. I made “grown up” friends (you know, that watched Hannah Montana instead of Sesame street). I learned that not all of them were nice. I went to middle school and found at that most of them were mean, actually.
It gave me strength though…enough strength to recover from meningitis without a flaw. I made big decisions, one of them being to teach myself for high school (seeing as I wasn’t able to go back at that point).
At 15, I learned life was the most beautiful, terrifying place I could ever find myself in. I lived as if I was dying, both a blessing and a curse at the time. I dabbled in being pretty to someone besides my parents.
A hunky football player thought I was the most amazing thing he had ever witnessed before. It was in that situation that I learned I always wanted to be first to the man I loved. In reality, I didn’t really love him, we never even dated, but he taught me I never wanted to be second, or third. I learned men could be cruel.
I learned success wasn’t going to be easy. I thought I knew everything. I had the most awful blonde highlights and janky teeth, but I was not yet tarnished by society’s ideas of beauty. I was insecure, yet innocent to those standards. It was weird. 15 was weird, but kind of lovely.
At 16 I learned my worth. I left the country, lost myself, and found her somewhere in the middle of the ocean (I traveled on a ship). I met my best friend, my muse, and my love when I was 16.
My best friend was a breath of fresh air, she taught me so much, we were peas in a pod, and I loved her more than any friend I had ever had.
My muse changed my life without even knowing it. He inspired me to be better, without even trying. He was a handsome whirlwind with an English accent (always a plus) that made me want to be better. I had a massive crush on the way he looked at me when I sang. He made me feel beautiful.
My love was an unexpected individual. He was young, really tiny when I met him, and kind of a douche…but he eventually became my everything.
Even though I was brace face… I felt beautiful, life was beautiful, and nothing could ever go wrong. I got a taste of the life I would stop at nothing to call my own, on my own.
At 17 I lost and gained it all. I fell right on my face…I lost all of the things I could never get back. My best friend, my shiny life, and pieces of my heart. Out of all of the hurt, losing my best friend was the strongest hit. I loved her. I loved being around her. We were the well dressed duo that was a force to be reckoned with. Yet, we were destroyed by a series of unfortunate events and boy drama.
It was heartbreaking, but in that hotmess, I found something beautiful. I fell madly in love with “my love.” He healed a part of me I didn’t think anyone would be able to. I trusted him. He adored me, and I could never get enough of him. We hadn’t even shook hands at this point, and yet, our chemistry, and our love for each other was tangible from 5,000 miles away.
It was somewhere in here that I learned that if my best friend was supposed to stay my best friend, she would, and she didn’t. She hurt me, and I’m sure I hurt her, but people have gotten over worse, and the fact that we didn’t was a sign that maybe she was just a temporary beautiful, I would learn from one day.
I got a puppy that stole my heart (I mean, look at that face).
I had the summer of my life…the kind they write movies about. It was a summer full of love, passion, laughs, and a new brand of happiness that comes with being madly in love without any idea of consequence or un-happy endings. We were “forever,” and we both believed that with all of our hearts.
At 18, I brought in the year with my love, and boy were we in love. It was the kind of love I can still feel today. I got my first job and finally felt like a grown up! I came to grips with slowing down and enjoying my youth, because I realized that it wouldn’t last forever. Something about becoming an adult legally made me realize that life is not slowing down, and it was time to enjoy it instead of begging to be older.
My family and I moved across the country towards the end of my senior year (goodbye college plans). I left friends, family, and every plan I made for my future up until that point. But before I had time to care, I approached the second summer with my dear Shlomo.
I left for London and spent two and half perfect months with my love. I got to spend time with my English friends, make a few more, and spend time with yet another special English boy who taught me that “a little party never killed nobody.”
We lived in a fairytale of beautiful locations, no worries, and endless amounts of love. It wasn’t reality, but it was incredible. I left London knowing without a doubt that I would marry that boy, we were perfect.
Little did I know, it was about to become very clear that he didn’t even see another month with me. His teens years kicked in, and I was kicked out…
On my 19th birthday I learned heartbreak. Actually, I spent the year learning that it was possible for one person to break my heart over and over again. I learned of the bittersweet taste of a tear filled last kiss. I held on to promises of “one day, when you’re not so far away,” for months.
19 hurt…19 was really heartbreaking. I had to make logical decisions even when it hurt like a mother to do so. I didn’t feel beautiful, or sexy, and no matter what I did, I felt useless. I felt all of the beauty I saw in life leave me. Life stood still…even when the man of my dreams confessed his feelings for me, I was too dead on the inside to acknowledge the validity of his words.
I did incredibly well in my first year of college, better than I could have ever imagined. At 19 I found my way back to the life I loved on my own ability. I found something that would help me achieve my dream life, but this time, it would be my doing, and mine to keep.
Four days before my birthday, the idea of ever getting my love back… was gone, and him and his “drive” were to blame for that. He could never be mine again, and that realization broke the chain that kept me tied to my misery.
On my 20th birthday, I let him go. I didn’t spend this birthday with tears in my eyes (a nice change). I laid eyes on the guy that had always been there, my inspiration. I denied him for the love of my misery, and there he was… There was my beautiful.
I began this year with calls/letters/text/and messages full of love from those I cared about most and those I thought had forgotten about me. They hadn’t forgotten about me, I was just too unhappy to see that they were there, even though I wasn’t.
I’ve spent the last three days with family, friends, and him. I feel beautiful, independent, loved, intelligent, and so strong…stronger than I have ever been.
At 20, I am ready to leave him behind. I am so ready to tackle my dreams of ivy league universities and a life abroad. I am ready to embrace my muse and be inspired by what ever keeps me focused. I am ready to feel beautiful and priceless to someone, even if only to myself.
And there you have it…my teen years in a nutshell. Did I do them right?
Thank you for sticking with me throughout this lengthy post, and the majority of my heartbreaking 19th year.
Lucy Loves Life, and is ready for her 20’s!