Twenty One Pilots? 21 Guns? Twenty-One YEARS?!

Twenty-one trips around the sun.

I've started, erased, and restarted this post a million times over the last week. For the first time, the words are escaping me and I think it has something to do with the fact I never thought I'd be writing this. Not to be morbid or anything, but twenty-one always seemed just out of reach. I've always considered it this far off place that, for whatever reason, I would never actually get to. I'm here now, though, and I've fully completed two decades on this planet, so I figured this is as good a time as any to share some thoughts on the road so far.

My memory is shit. I think I ought to preface everything that's coming with that. The first really strong memory I have is almost having a breakdown at catholic school confession because I lied about my sin, which was in and of itself a sin, but I couldn't say I was knowingly sinning in the moment, and you can see how easy it was to spiral out from there. That's Catholic guilt for you. I was probably six or so at the time. That's not to say everything before that wasn't worth remembering. I'm told I was a really happy kid and I believe it. I remember being eager to please, desperate to be good, and I kept that attitude for much of my childhood.

The switch to public school was a no-brainer and I adjusted pretty well. I fell in with a good group of kids, found musical theater, and worked really hard. I wasn't popular, I wasn't not popular. I just kind of did my own thing and tried to prove I was good. It didn't matter what I was doing, I just wanted someone to see me.

And see me, they did. By high school, I was bending over backwards to get lead roles in shows and the highest grades in the class. Out of nowhere, I found new friends, people I never pictured myself with in the years prior. I've never said it outright, but I want to thank those people I spent high school with. You were the first people to see me, the first people to show me life could be more than just work. You balanced me out and I still miss those nighttime drives screaming out show tunes in Jeff the Jeep.

I can look back at those years fondly, appreciate them for what they were, but at the same time, I'm realizing I spent those years in a haze. I felt invincible, like I knew exactly who I was. I convinced myself I had everything sorted out.

Switching colleges at the last second should have been a warning sign. I should have been seeing red, but I didn't.

Geneseo is one of the places I call home, but it wasn't always that way. I've never properly put a name to what happened to me my freshman year of college, and I'm still not sure that this is accurate or fair of me to label as such, but I believe it was my first major depressive episode. I don't know why my brain chemistry betrayed me when I needed it most, but much of that first semester was spent in what my friends and I would come to call The Black Hole.

The Black Hole sits on my chest. It grows and shrinks in size based on the day. Freshman year, it was everywhere, like a disease, fluid running through my veins.

I wanted someone to see me all my life. With The Black Hole, I saw me, and I didn't like it.

I'm lucky. I rode it out, time passed, and eventually, The Black Hole started shrinking. Serious lifestyle changes, like switching to a major I actually enjoyed and taking up running, definitely helped me start feeling better. I know that's not how it works for everyone and I'm equally aware things could have been so much worse. In hindsight, I should have reached out for help. I know that now. Thank God, like I said, I'm lucky.

The next two years were an uphill ride. Things dipped here and there, I learned to manage The Black Hole, and for the most part, I was the happiest I've ever been. My roommates became family and I will never be able to explain what they mean to me in words. I found my way back to music and I saved my own life, but I couldn't have done it without the soundtrack. I wrote a whole novel and told a story that matters to me. I studied abroad alone and travelled more of the world than I have in all the previous years combined. I had a script of mine recognized by the college. I graduated. I survived.

I'm looking in the mirror this morning, trying to conceptualize the number twenty-f*cking-one, and I don't see the girl who started this story, eager to please everyone and scared to stand up for herself. I don't see The Black Hole dominating my vision. I don't even see the girl from last week who was pulling her hair out over grad school applications and the GRE.

I see someone who unironically loves pop punk more than anything. I see someone who makes a podcast about America's (arguably) worst television show simply because she wants to. I see someone who wrote this blog post, laying it all out, knowing damn well people might not care. I see someone who is facing the future, the reality of twenty-one, uncertain, but unafraid. I see someone passionate, proud, and pissed. Someone messy. Someone kind. Someone bold.

I see someone I like. I see me.

Thank you to everyone who's come along on any part of the last twenty-one orbits around the sun with me. I love each and every one of you, especially if you're still reading these blog posts. Have a great week and head's up (!!) there won't be a new post next week, but check my socials for updates! Until next time! // bcp