When are we grown? Is it about age or as they call it a “coming of age”? Or perhaps physical growth or a realisation? A realisation that every day I feel grown.
And how do we define this development? A continual process that never stops? Not then, not now, not ever.
I have grown out of my past. For now. But how can I be sure that in
the future my mind will not regress and I will be un grown again? Or how
do I know that my thoughts are even grown at all and that maybe I am
still nothing more “grown” than an innocent or a child?
It comes as a shock when you realise and then accept that you have
grown “up” because really it takes some hell of a working out. It is
hard to recognise the changes that you yourself possess. The small
things you notice about yourself, the change in behaviors, the things
you thought were your coping mechanisms ( the bad ones ), this is what
shocks you when you realise they are drifting away.
The battles with yourself aren’t worth fighting anymore and the world
around you becomes just the world you accept or don’t accept and it is
more beautiful for it.
You grow up and you remember your childhood and the time that you
were really you. We all get lost along the way and then we grow through
growing back again.
The change is constant and every couple of months I look back and it
scares me because my level of thought was then (before) so confusing, so
immature or just so lost. I was so un independent of control or
something was affecting me. We are all so caught up in our situation and
it seemed so wrong and I think that was then, this is now. And now I am
grown up.
But then I stop. How do I know if I have grown up or whether I am just growing up or out or in or down?
Do we grow in circles or squares or lines? In squiggles, heart shaped boxes or just grow ourselves in to prisons?
I know I am growing out of the problems. Let’s be frank it has taken
me enough time! It is like those ten years you keep growing but in the
wrong ways and I felt like I would never grow out like those things
defined me and just were me and then one day you must just start to grow
back in the opposite direction again and I am finally (I think )
better. The anti growth of the anorexia (it still makes me nervous to
write it and to admit it) and the fear of being normal (that thing that I
have been coping with for so long – yes coping – and dealing – but it
was still grown in), the regression of the need for control, the growing
out of the desire to be more than something, the growing out of the focusing on the pain, the growing out of thinking this world is just a
hell hole, this cell with just no point for anything. The growing out of
the desperation to be noticed, the need for attention, the lack of need
for the things we thought we didn’t need.
The growing in to love and out of love and then the grown up kind of
love. The different kind of love, the love that works. The realisation
that that suffering is not the way forward (not that I ever thought it
was the way forward just kind of romantic and necessary) but you know
what I mean. Realising that happiness and art can combine, the growing
in to wanting to be normal, the growing that means opening your eyes and
caring and being happy. The growing in to calming the fuck down and
getting on with it.
And then trying to understand? The expansion of the mind that isn’t
grown enough to even understand growing. Why do we grow? Do things
change us or do we change things?
We can’t stop it we just grow. Magic. Or not? Everything grows. Everything living.
Some people say I’m more grown up than my years – but I see myself
screaming or playing or just looking at things with wide open eyes and
then I feel so un grown. I still need looking after.
And then I feel so old.
Now I am ready. At least for now. To be grown. Up. Up. Up.
I think.
But not GROWN up.
But not GROWN up.
