I started off slow. Sure, there were bumps in the road but I was making progress. I did things I wasn’t proud of when I was young, haven’t we all? Then it seemed my bad decisions were adding up, haunting me. I was tearing myself apart. I couldn’t take it anymore. I cut myself, in half. It was the darkest time of my life but I made it through. My wounds healed, but scars remained.
Time marched on. I’m middle aged now. I’m stronger, but still haven’t come into my own. Suddenly, I was forced to finally grow up. I put all of my inner demons aside and used all my might to fight what was, at the time, the biggest battle of my life. Eventually, I triumphed. I licked my wounds and came out on top. I finally had the respect of my peers and times were great. Then I got careless and blew all my money on Wall Street. I was poor, but still proud. I had the will and the courage to make it through tough times; I knew that about myself already.
I slowly but surely started making my fortune back. That is until an even greater fight made me stop caring about myself and stand up for the greater good. At first I was hesitant, but a woman can only take so much. I mobilized every asset I had and dug in for another fight the likes of which no one now could understand, and with any luck will never have to. Again, I came out victorious. After that I decided to settle down and have a few kids. I had some other fights after that. Not the same scale but no less difficult or hard on my family.
One day I just got sick of it. Is it too much to ask for a little peace? I might have been much older but I found I wasn’t completely jaded. That young, idealistic girl that just wanted love was still inside me somewhere. I’d gotten so used to fighting that I’d forgotten what I was even fighting for. I’d had my mid-life crisis a little late. So many different ideas swirling around in my head. Am I the warrior or the lover? I was divided for a time but eventually moved on.
I’m an old woman now. I’ve been there, done that. You can’t surprise me anymore, or so I thought. One day, out of the blue, I was savagely hit in the face. At the time I didn’t even know who it was. My eye was blackened and I was fuming. There is still some fight left in this old girl yet. I lashed out at everyone. It didn’t matter if they had a connection to my wound or not! I was fucking pissed and I swore I’d never let anyone hit me again. I brought the wrath of God down on anyone I suspected of wanting to hurt me. Was it logical? Hell no! But it felt good.
Now I’m trying to pick up the pieces for reacting the way I did. I’m an old woman and I need someone younger to help rejuvenate me, bring me new life. I just want happiness, is that too much to ask?
I, Am Erica.