In accordance to the fact that I blank out my face:

The thing about age is that it divides us. You are judged for it from the moment you are born ’til the moment you die – and, some, even after that. Somewhere along the line, you are judged less, but it never goes away.

I have an aunt that is thirteen years older than my uncle. She didn’t marry him because he’s incredibly handsome (he’s not) or because he’s incredibly wealthy (also, not). She married him because they met, fell in love, and didn’t care what everyone else thought. And you know what? No one cares that she’s older. It’s not cradle robbing, and it wasn’t because of their ages, it was in spite of it, so everyone just goes “wow.” and moves on.

Here’s the catch: you take a U18 and give them friends of other ages? Bam. Instant mass judgement. Dating a younger guy? Skank. Dating a guy who’s more than two years older? Whore. Sleeping with older men? Slut. Even with friends: if you have friends that are older, everyone thinks you’ve decided you think you’re “too good for them”. Have younger friends? “God, she’s so immature”.

I am sick and tired of being judged because I’m young. I don’t feel young. I don’t act young. I’m no different than any of you: I get migraines, I worry about the economy, I have a political party picked out (NDP). I watch what I eat and (unlike some of my rather juvenile friends, of the same age) watch shows like Grey’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives instead of the Disney channel.

Sure. I haven’t had sex. I haven’t drank. I’ve never been divorced. You know what? I’ve done a lot to “qualify” as being old, despite that. I’ve begged to be on Novodipam. I’ve broken hearts. Gotten in fights with my girlfriends. Gotten in fights with people in my way of success. I have back problems, hip problems, and more heart problems than my almost-seventy-year-old grandmother.

But does this mean people will treat me like I’m old? No. I think I deserve to be treated no differently from the thirty-five year old mother of two – sure, I get that my frontal lobe isn’t fully developed, but it’s developing a hell of a lot faster than the next person my age. And still, I’m treated just like them.

That’s why I blanked out my face. I know you’re all great people, but we’ve been brought up to judge according to age. You may try not to, and you might not acknowledge that you do, but you do. I get that, logically, you don’t care weather I’m sixteen or twenty. We are not, however, purely logical and rational beings. Hell, even I judge by age every now and then – though; I try incredibly hard not to.

I’ll give you this much. I am the U18 longing for a number, a bloody number, to change. But I’m not the twelve-year-old sitting at a computer with her pink keyboard and pink mouse, tapping out sentences letter by letter with a whole two fingers. (If I was, I would have some major issues. Major.) I’m still young enough that sex with a twenty-five year old would be statutory rape, I believe, but I’m old enough that I have classmates having illegal sex anyways. (To whom, by the way, shame. I don’t care if it’s “love”; prison is not worth it.)

So, I welcome you to do this: comment, leaving your opinions and your age. Go ahead. I dare you.