I recently celebrated my 25th birthday. In my mom's clever observation and words, "soy misma como un quarter...like the money kind." And I think I can guess that most people will assume I'm going to go on some long-winded rant about my existentential/quarter-life crisis. In the words of Trump, "not true".
Trying to express yourself is a lot like picking a scab. Given, it's a messier form of catharsis, but there's a form of relief you feel after it's said and done. I can't tell you where my mind has been these past couple of months. I know I'm not well, but somehow I'm still finding a way to function.
I'm no anomaly; I won't attempt to say I'm doing anything special either. I constantly feel as if I'm in a state of transition, for better or worse. I'm not sure what to make of it so I think that's why I'm writing about it to see where it takes me.
