(no subject)
I was frustrated today. Frustrated with myself, frustrated with school, frustrated with everything. I threw a tantrum up in my room ... I have an aftermath to clean up soon.
But I lay there on the floor and I started to look through my old notebooks, magazines, and other mementos I could find of my past. Until today, I never realized how much I'd grown, or how much I'd matured. I never realized how complex my life had become. So many things have happened over the years. I don't know when I grew up. I don't know when I stopped really having fun. Today, I have to think so much before I do anything. I can't read a book in public without thinking "someone's going to think that I'm a geek." I can't raise my hand to answer a question without thinking, "now everyone thinks I'm a teacher's pet." I can't look around without wondering what everyone thinks of me when they look back. And I hate it. And yet ... all my habits, all my (im)maturity, all my actions, all my faults ... they all make me who I am. Does that mean that I hate myself?
No ... it means I hate what I've become. I'm still an adolescent, but I fear my adulthood and I yearn to be a child again.
When did life start becoming so ... difficult?
But I lay there on the floor and I started to look through my old notebooks, magazines, and other mementos I could find of my past. Until today, I never realized how much I'd grown, or how much I'd matured. I never realized how complex my life had become. So many things have happened over the years. I don't know when I grew up. I don't know when I stopped really having fun. Today, I have to think so much before I do anything. I can't read a book in public without thinking "someone's going to think that I'm a geek." I can't raise my hand to answer a question without thinking, "now everyone thinks I'm a teacher's pet." I can't look around without wondering what everyone thinks of me when they look back. And I hate it. And yet ... all my habits, all my (im)maturity, all my actions, all my faults ... they all make me who I am. Does that mean that I hate myself?
No ... it means I hate what I've become. I'm still an adolescent, but I fear my adulthood and I yearn to be a child again.
When did life start becoming so ... difficult?