This autumn seems like one of the gloomiest, darkest ever... at first I thought it was only due to the weather, an exterior phenomenon that had started to affect the interior a little too much. Also the weather reports were never too happy or optimistic and that gave me grim perspective as well. I now realize it was all about predictions...bad predictions, but not from the outside but from within. I thought I as healing...slowly but meticulously and somehow...I am. Yet the process of healing, true, genuine, 100% healing will always imply dredging up old wounds, opening them up again and letting them catch a proper crust, one that cannot be reopened or rehatched. The thing about old, internal, non-medical wounds is that no one from the outside can fix them... no doctor, no friend, no husband...or lover...no mother...or father or even pet for that matter. IT HAS TO BE YOU! Sure... they can assist, be supportive, hand you the scissors where you need to cut or the fine, silky thread where you need to mend and sew up...but that's as far as they can go. The actual fixing you have to do yourself, manually, mentally, alcoholically, aggressively, hysterically or just patiently...whichever way helps... YOU. In this struggle to fix myself up, I actually made myself dependent of everything and everyone that could assist my process, yet denied myself or my own personal input. It's a much older me that hasn't yet reached the places she thought she'd be at this age. Funny thing is I never envisioned myself quite anywhere distinctly at this point. I never had any real projections just predictions. Predictions from my mom, predictions from my friends, predictions of myself shaped up by other people. I have been living with an image of myself, or maybe thousands of images of myself seen through the eyes of different people. I guess I never really stopped to look at myself through my own eyes. And now, as this age is pushing a mirror towards my face, I was scared as hell to look inside at the real me... and what I really think of myself. I guess the only true valuable thing this age can teach me is to have a sincere and honest chat with myself...catch up where we left off like old friends or maybe just get to meet each other for the first time. I think 30 is just a chance to meet this old- new inner me, the one I never really gave a chance to know in the past... to caught up with people's projections of what life at 30 ought to be. I took a lot of small yet significant steps towards this final showdown with myself. I cleared up a lot of shit that had been pilling up - old so called friends I could never be myself around, old friends that have never quite been friends around me, old diseases and illnesses coming back to haunt me now and then, old jobs and ambitions that might have never been mine. The slate is almost clean now...the table is set...two chairs facing each other across a smooth wooden board. I am already sitting down. I'm just waiting for ME to arrive. And for the first time... anxious and still a bit scared... I'm looking forward, eyes front.