www.whyville.net Jan 17, 2010 Weekly Issue

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I am lost. It's that simple. I can't write anymore, I can't think straight anymore, every time I listen to music I can't even listen, my mind drifts . . .

But to think of what?

You see, that's the problem. I have no idea what I'm even thinking these days. My mind jumps around and it's just one thing after another, reeling through the back of my head on a roll of film. Certain things make me want to cry, even if they're not upsetting. I was replaying one of my favorite scenes from a parody show in my head that was by far the funniest thing ever, and my eyes started watering. It's like my mind has no control anymore, I can't decide when which emotions grab hold of me or which memories I see next. It's not even always memories, it's just words or a face, or a bit of music. Everything sets me off in the direction it's not supposed to go, everything is just . . . not right.

I miss when I could sit at my computer and let the ideas flow through my fingertips and hear the tap-tap-tap of my laptop keys shaping letters into words, words into sentences, and sentences into stories. Now the ideas seem to stop halfway through my brain. When I do write something, it never sounds right and most of the time I just end up walking away from the computer with a scowl.

I can't find sanctuary anywhere but sleep, and it's hard enough for me to sleep to begin with BEFORE you add onto that the fact my brother is the rudest, most nosy, whiny, anal little kid ever and never gives me a moment to myself. And the fact my parents act as if they don't trust me anymore, and the fact I can barely scrape by on my schoolwork (which isn't even hard for me; I don't understand why I can't seem to get through most of it).

Maybe I shouldn't trust me anymore. I can't even tell my thoughts and feelings from one another.

So I have one question . . . is this growing up? Because this is certainly not what I fantasized of when I was a little girl. I imagined being a young lady and running from store to store in the mall with my friends, chasing after boys and screaming random things at strangers.

That's not what it's like. All growing up is, is mood swings and confusion and randomization in your life that makes no sense . . . but of course it doesn't make sense; it's randomization. Not the funny kind, though. The kind where you really wish you could just have a set time when you felt like this or that or you could actually pick and choose which emotions are coursing through you.

Starting the process of finally growing up . . . me? I now realize that maybe I shouldn't have been so eager and maybe I should have lived in my great moments because now I'm certainly having my fair share of bad ones.

But all those decisions are behind me now, and I can't take them back.



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