I ran wild, I didn't hide my emotions, I screamed them and threw them everywhere. If I wanted to do something, I sprinted towards it. I sang my songs so loud and made mix cds and playlists that were so bomb I still have them and listen to them and find comfort in them. I said the words I wanted to say, I fell in love with my own slang and quotes from books and movies and I swore I'd get them tattooed on me. I painted for hours and I sketched the monsters out of my mind. It's funny that I hated me then. They told me I was crazy, I was reckless, I made no sense and I would someday settle down.

I did. I still have urges to paint and I still listen to music like it saved my life, 'cause it did. But I can't get upset and drive off in my ****** car and return 6 days later and tell people they were overreacting for worrying. I'd lose my job and I'd feel bad for making them worry. I guess I'm a grown up now.

The point is, go crazy while you can. I'm not done with my crazy, not by a long shot. I'm leaning on the street sign "20s" and I can't see the end of the road, it's just a horizon of drunken nights and learning experiences and trips all over the country and love so hot you wanna pass out.

"don't let them tell you what to do, how to feel"
No. They are going to tell you, and you can't stop them. It is okay to pretend to listen while you fully know you're gonna do things your own **** way. It's also okay to scream at them to mind their business. It's okay to scream and run and follow your crazy heart, you may never feel it so full of passion again.