Youth and Old Age

I'm pretty sure that the 16-year-old version of me would dislike the 40-year-old version of me.  And I'm positive that the 40-year-old me would despise the 16-year-old version of me.  Why?  Because I was an asshole.  But I am still kind of an asshole, just of a different variety.

Back in the day, I put up with everyone's shit.  My friends were all assholes, and I was an asshole, so we had somewhat of a symbiosis.  I had no self-worth back then, so I just went along with all the pseudo-drama and tried to ignore the rest.

I'd like to say that I'm totally different as an adult, but that would be a half-truth.  I still put up with other peoples' bullshit, but I don't pretend it doesn't repulse me anymore.  I may be less able to shed soul-sucking parasites from my life as an adult, but I am far more likely to let those people know exactly how I feel about them.

I'm not sure if this is progress or not.  Probably not.  It's probably just a manifestation of middle-age onset pre-dementia or something.  I don't want to be an asshole, but sometimes I float out of my body in the middle of a sentence or an action, look at myself, and think, "really?  who the fuck are you?  When did you become this bitter, cranky old hag?"

I don't look in the mirror any more and think I look pretty, but then I didn't do that when I was 16 either.  There was a minute or two in my 20s where I had a little something going on, but I think it had less to do with physical attractiveness and more to do with inner happiness sort of bubbling out.  When the flow of happiness subsides, all that's left is stunned vacuity.

That vacuum sucks just as much, regardless of how old a person happens to be.  Youth and old age aren't so different after all.