Growing up has always been something that I found to be relatively hard to do. Sure, the birthday aspect of it is fun, between the parties and gifts, the general excitement that hits the Brocke household whenever birthday season comes and goes, but aside from that, they sort of suck.

I haven’t really been dealing with the whole growing aspect as a whole very well. One second I was in first grade, then sixth, and now I’m here. I’m not all that different than I was prior, except for the massive bouts of anxiety that hit with rapid succession and short-term acne.

Every now and then, usually when I’m comfortable enough with myself and surroundings to let my guard down, the feeling sneaks up on me and knocks all the wind out of my scrawny frame–I’m a sophomore in high school and it’s real. I get up and have obligations and haven’t had recess for almost four years.

Which, by the way, is stupid. I’d kill for the opportunity to jump off a swing right now.

The fear of growing has been in me all along, but I’ve been able to manage it with the comfort of milestones. But now the next milestone ahead of me is a huge, life-altering event, and I don’t know how I’m going to calm myself down every time June 4th rolls around for the next three years. I lost it when I turned 15, so what does 18 have in store for me?

It’s depressing to think about. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t age.

Not in an immortal being way, but a staying-fifteen-for-eighty-years-and-then-dying way.

It sounds silly in retrospect, especially since it’s not a big deal, everyone does it, but I tend to dramatize just a tad (it’s evident in everything I do, and I’m working on it), but the idea that I’d never change is sickeningly comforting. I could stop to breathe while the world rushed on without me.

Growing up is frightening, but ultimately painless in the grand scheme of things, so I think I’ll start living my life day by day instead of year by year.