“Buried-alive”-thoughts

I wonder how extreme I would have had to live my life to not have regrets right now.

Sometimes, I listen to a song that I would like to say reminds me of a moment in which I was happy, but I fear that it might also remind me of a moment in which I only was supposed to be happy. Or in which I had wanted to be happy.

Moments of coming home during sunrise, and having a beer and cigarette on my lips, and a song still in mind. Moments of wearing a dress and being out with someone nice. Moments of a long train ride and excitement.

There is a weird feeling within all of these.

Have I not done these things often enough?
Have I not enjoyed them enough?
Have I taken things for granted and now that the world is closed realize that nothing ever is?

Would I have even enjoyed if I had overdone it, chasing one party after the other and sleeping with a lot of people only to have done so?

My parents always idealized their youth, when I was a little child. They would become nostalgic now and then and tell me about enjoying the 80s while feeling free and fearless as the no-future-generation, while listening to Billy Idol and The Smiths and protesting against weapons of mass destruction. Turning 30 was a shock to them, and that was when they had me, but that is another issue …

I don‘t want to idealize my youth.
In fact, I did not want to become like them that much that I did not want to be young at all.
When I was 16, I wanted to finally turn 30 and skip all the rest. I wanted to have something to look forward to rather than to look back. I wanted to have a style of clothing, and a job and a hobby that would still make sense when I was 40 or older. I needed that perspective … but well, I became goth.
So much goth that I sometimes thought the alternative would be to do all the stupid things my parents missed so much and never give myself the chance to get old at all, but die in a fun way when reaching the terrifying age of 25, which (whoops) has already happened to me now.

I did not want to become the shell of the memories of me and my best friend listening to 30 seconds to Mars while studying linguistics and eating cupcakes. I did not want to become the shell of in 2015 working through the night in a refugee shelter and feeling like we could change the world for the better right here and now.

Still, there is this empty space inside of me.
It makes me forget where I am or what I am actually doing.
It makes me drink early in the morning and rotate around in my room until I find myself on the floor crying and sobbing.
It makes me dream of a violet sunrise and the taste of beer on my lips.
It makes me wonder about that one person that once reached out for my red ponytail when it was still hip long and told me how pretty I was.
It makes me remember standing on the middle of a crowd and not enjoying myself at all, but looking down shocked and upset at my boyfriend who had had too much to drink and had collapsed with drunk people walking all over him.
It makes me think about feeling cute and sexy in a short blue dress and expecting to make love later that evening, but only being stabbed in a way I would have never expected.
It also makes me think about the feeling of coming home to someone when it was still a choice and not all there ever was in this world.

„About that annoying guitar playing drunk face that your father wanted to marry you off to“, my witch interrupts my thoughts. „Didn‘t you fuck him again right here on the couch, when the second lockdown started?“

Whoops.
Might have done that.
Out of missing being in my early 20s, and wondering about what else could have been had I not been that shy and already mentally wounded.

I don‘t know where all of this leaves me, yet. As I said, I don‘t want to idealize my youth. I don‘t want a few years to be all I ever like to remember and every round birthday make me breakdown.

But at the moment I don‘t know how to feel alive, and thinking back into those moments reminds me that once I had been able to.

I have lived once, but is it ever really possible to live any life to the fullest?