Sometimes I think about the person I once was, the silly girl in Secondary school, coasting through the days, living life without passion or intensity, and how much easier it all was. I'm twenty-one now, and the surface of my thoughts always seem to linger on how much more of something I want, and how inadequate I actually am. My armour is stronger now, and I keep people out easily, yet the disappointments and resentments that follow me have gradually become more bitter as time passes. The hollow rhythms of going through the daily routines resound more loudly than before, and the rituals of small talk freezes the heart more acutely than I thought possible. "Cheer up, don't be depressed," they say, "that's life." But what do they know, of the fears I face every day, of the sinking battle it is with myself every morning to leave my room, or how I feel myself further and further away from the people I love.
But I do know, that all this will pass. I am strong, and this is nothing I can't handle. The fire trucks are coming up around the bend.
