Getting Old Sucks

And anyone telling you otherwise is just flat-out lying.

Or else they’re twenty-five and don’t have a f**cking clue. Yet, as this shell of ours continues to morph, to wither, our insides will always remain the same: forever young at heart. Whenever I get down on myself, I tap into that feeling like a power source. I know I can’t stop the hands of time no matter how many rounds of Juvederm or Botox I shoot into my face.

But I can push aside the regrets and remind myself after losing a sister to melanoma at the age of 37, a dear friend to a stroke, another to barbiturates, a boyfriend to heroin, I am living to see another day, another year. Something that’s a privilege so many of those who’ve touched our lives will never know.

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