I’m not the same girl I used to be. Then again, maybe I am the same, and it’s everyone and everything else that’s different. Maybe I’m just not adapting to the changes in my environment. Maybe I’m still the idealistic twelve year old who read romance novels and ate ice cream while watching Titanic. Maybe I’m still the anorexic fourteen year old who smiled when the number on the scale dropped and cried when it didn’t. Maybe I’m still the ambitious sixteen year old, striving to put her life back together and get laid before prom. (Without much success, of course.) Maybe I’m still the infatuated seventeen year old who fell madly in love with a geeky college boy, only to get her heart broken. Maybe I’m just an eighteen year old basket case who drinks too much and smokes too much and ***** random boys (and girls) with all the lights off because she hates her body just as much when she’s drunk as she does when she’s sober. Maybe I have changed. Maybe I never will. Maybe in the end, however soon or far off that may be, I’ll look back and laugh at my complete and utter stupidity and inability to stop thinking and just start living. Maybe I’m already dead inside and just waiting for my body to follow.
I don't intend to leave you all behind, but I’m beginning to think I already have.