Watching the aging process...

If I never do anything promising in my entire life it would be that I will not die in front of a T.V. or computer screen. I refuse to do so. I hope that I go in some sort of exciting way. Carefree and screaming in joy, adrenaline and ecstasy. I don't want people to remember me in such a way that I was boring and lifeless. I feel as though I may be experiencing my mid-life crisis a little early. Every few years,...or maybe it's months,...I go through a period where I realize I hate myself, I hate my life...and I want to do an entire over-haul and change myself. The problem being, that ever since these feelings started (maybe around age fourteen or so) I have yet to change a whole hell of a lot about myself aside from my sense of style which lately consists of t-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. Pretty lame for a twenty-five-year-old with a halfway decent figure,...(I'd like to think so considering I've had two kids!) And I'm not saying this out of vanity, I'm saying this, because I can look in the mirror, and unlike women my age who are trying desperately to recapture their slipping youth, or the one's who have long since given up and don't wear make-up at all,....I try to adjust or re-adjust for my age. My eyes are changing now. I am beginning to show the signs of life. The lines in the corners of my eyes that show that I've spent many nights up late laughing those low belly laughs with friends, so loud and long that we'd forgotten why we were laughing to begin with. The crease between my brows that remains even when I don't furrow my brows that my father warned me about so much, that shows how much time I spent worrying. (That by the way runs much deeper then my laugh lines.) Worrying about grades at first, friends and boys,....then later about kids and money, rent and men. The dark circles around my eyes bring back memories of sleepless nights up with my youngest child when she just refused to sleep, and the days I still battle when I just...want....sleep! I look at my body, and I don't see a seventeen year old body any longer, and I'm proud of that fact, because I didn't like my seventeen year old body any how. I have stretchmarks, and my belly sags, my boobs aren't where they're suppose to be, and my thighs are twice the size I remember them being, but I'm strangely okay with that. I've pipe dreamed with friends about plastic surgeries, but realistically,...I could think of a million other things I could do with a few grand before cutting up the parts of my body I've become accustomed to over the years. Twenty five really isn't that old, but it isn't seventeen either, and it isn't twenty. My mind works in different ways than it once did. I remember looking in the mirror at fourteen and thinking "Who are you?" It's all part of having a mental disorder. I got used to the young girl looking back at me. She matured a little, and the pudge fell off, but now there's this....well....WOMAN,....staring back at me and I find myself once again with a new body, and a new face looking in the mirror asking her, "Who the hell are you?" And sometimes she smiles, or makes a stupid face while she's putting on her make up or doing her hair and I see freckles popping through, and there's a glimpse of the kid in there, but for the most part, the woman has covered her up pretty well. She's aged her, smudged her, life has taken it's toll on her. So I find myself,....wondering where life will take me from here. Ten years, twenty,....or if I'll make it that far. And how little I've accomplished in the seven years of my adult life. (Nine if you consider the fact I've been a mother since I was sixteen) I've had aspirations, dreams, motivations,....and yet to get up and do it. When will I feel the want? The drive? When will enough be enough? Maybe tomorrow.....