Who I am at 31 years of age:
I am changing, still. I have become more introverted. It is difficult for me to start up conversations and to keep up small talk. I am still my biggest critic. My lack of self confidence often holds me back. However, I am growing more comfortable in my skin. I know my strengths and weaknesses. I am not afraid to admit when I don’t know the answer. I still catch myself thinking, “wonder what so and so will think if I do/wear/buy this,” but now I respond with “what does it matter as long as I like it?” Once I know someone, I am an open book. I have an extremely difficult time keeping secrets about my life.
I am fully aware that some people do not get a fair shake at life. We do not have equality of opportunity. Life isn’t fair. I grow more sensitive to this fact everyday. It is impossible for me not to put myself in someone else’s shoes when I hear their story. My empathy for strangers knows no bounds. It often floods my emotions.
I am a survivor of depression. It is always lurking, staying as close as my shadow. Some days I hate myself. Some days I think the world would be better without me. However, the attacks are much less frequent and less severe than they used to be. I credit my husband for the stability he brought to my life. I struggle with anxiety. I worry about things unlikely to happen and constantly prepare strategies to deal with these imaginary situations.
I love to write; I love to create. I love color. I am a little quirky. I like my showers too hot, too much pepper on my food, and I am way too intense when I play games. I do not like to wear socks or the sound of fingernails on fabric. I end telephone calls, as well as text message and email conversations, awkwardly and abruptly.
I am loved. My life is full of amazing people who are happy when I succeed and grieve with me when I am mourning. I am also madly in love–this is not an exaggeration. My life is beautiful.