When I say emotionally stable, I mean sort of. I mean the end of your adolescent rage and the need to feel depressed about every single thing. Rising up from the ruins of your emotional suicide and walking away.
So when I say emotionally stable, I really do mean it in the mildest way possible. I don't mean being Mary Poppins-- that would be something to be depressed about.
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| Taken circa 2009. From my good friend Kat Armitage |
When you are emotionally stable, you are unable to write. That gift of feeling and perception coupled with depression and agony is the perfect formula for heartfelt writing. Take it away, you're left to write about sunshine and rainbows. Eek.
Sh*t gets real. You see things as they are and not through that distorted drunk emotional haze. Suddenly the night doesn't seem so epic. Life talks and emotional melodrama induced by alcohol rarely happen now, as opposed to the abused every night, all nighters you used to pull off.
Songs have less power over you. They cease to be knives that pierce through you with razor sharp feelings. A bad dose of melancholy and a dash of emo. That, or you start listening to the happy stuff. You are now able to cycle through your playlist without collapsing into a pile of emotional rubble.
You do not have the same passion and amor for people anymore. The guy you just met is not your savior, nor your redemption, he's just another dude. He's cool, he comes, he goes, you meet other people. You learn, you let go. You don't write a blog on how he magically touched your life like no other (for the nth time), and surprisingly, you don't feel the need to.
Some friends drift apart, and that's okay. You realize there is only enough space in your life for so much people. Those who matter will be there.
Idiocy and youth become two very confusingly similar terms. You are annoyed, then again, there will always be older generations who say you're the young idiot, and younger generations to call idiots.
You finally get that tattoo you've always wanted. Or don't ever.
When you're emotionally stable, it feels good. The birds sing, the sun shines, and everything seems nice. But seriously, you don't want to write about that. So, channel your inner depressed soul and listen to Taking Back Sunday and wait for the tears to fall.
When they don't, congratulations! You're turning into a grown up.
