My thoughts spilling out of my fingertips.
Time is moving rapidly, and at a pace I don’t know if I can keep up with. I’m terrified. I’m sitting here, in my bed, the end of my Sophomore year in high school is tomorrow. And then I’m a junior. This doesn’t make sense to me. I’m already thinking about college. College. I stare at that word and I feel fear. College. Adults. I’m still a kid, I’m still that immature, think they know everything, dramatic kid. And I can’t imagine that changing much in the next two years. My life has progressed in the blink of an eye. Although it took me awhile thanks to my mathematical skills, I estimated I’ve lived about 1/6 of my life. 1/6. I find that somewhat reassuring. But if these past sixteen years have gone by this fast, I worry about how the rest of my life could fly right past me. Is it just me or is time accelerating more quickly? Maybe I’m just scared. I don’t like this, this feeling. Fuck drugs, sex, gossip, and all the rest of that high school bullshit. Let me go back to the early years, of simplicity and contentment. No one cared how you dressed, you didn’t worry about having a boyfriend, nothing mattered. You were happy, and your life was simple. And now you’re unhappy, and you’re life is still less than complicated. I don’t like knowing about the different slang terms for drug use, having experience with some of these drugs, knowing who’s sleeping with who, etc etc. I’m so young. I am unhappy. I wake up in the morning only to wish that I had the ability to keep sleeping, or the opportunity. I go to sleep wishing that I could stay that way for weeks, alone in my slumber. I’ve grown to dislike the person I see in the mirror. I’ve realized that every time I’m depressed, I acquire the same unhealthy thoughts. I’ll lay down, and imagine someone stabbing me in the chest, leg, arm, wherever. Sometimes I imagine doing it to myself, and sometimes I picture a killer coming in to where ever I may be. No, I am not suicidal. I have no intention nor any yearning to actually die. I am simply unhappy with my life right now. I believe the vision of someone stabbing me, is my desire for instant sleep, instant unconsciousness. This is obviously irrational, as the act of acquiring a stab wound would do no such thing, but that is only my interpretation. It’s my mind, sick of listening to it’s dull, self-loathing thoughts. And I just want it to end, and sleep it off. I want to awake when things are better. When I am happy. I know I will be happy again, of course. I’ve dealt with this feeling they diagnosed as depression for almost 3 years now. Chemical imbalance in my brain? I don’t know. Reacting to my environment and the situations I’m dealt with? I don’t know. Whatever it is I’ve felt it and I’ve beaten it and felt it again and beaten it again. It’s a cycle of sad, happy, sad, happy, sad, happy. The duration of each stage of general emotion is not constant. That’s just how it is. I’ll be satisfied with my life, and then something will set me off. How I managed to turn this into me writing about my mental issues, I don’t know. But I am still scared, still growing up too fast, not doing everything I want to be doing in my life. I wonder where I’ll be in five years, in ten. I just hope that I accomplish my ultimate goal eventually; to work in the medical field, doing something that I love. What that occupation might be, I haven’t the faintest idea. But I’m going to get there.