By Kyla Rain
I just want to feel something.
I’m seventeen years old and I’ve yet to experience the world for what it really is. There are so many things I haven’t done or figured out, so many places I haven’t seen and feelings I can’t describe and people I haven’t kissed. To be clear on that last one, the number of people I haven’t kissed is roughly 7.442 billion and counting. Meaning that I’ve never found a single person willing to stick around long enough for that, let alone really know me.
I feel like in high school, we’re always looking for the best and most likable versions of yourself, like the perfect “me” might be lurking around the next corner. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
I wish I could escape. Cut all my hair off, dye it pink, pierce my ears twice, and climb out my bedroom window into the night, where quite literally thousands of worlds and stories are playing out while I’m sitting here in my bedroom typing all of this out in the dark. Maybe it’s just the teenage adolescence talking, but if that’s the case, then I never want to turn twenty. That would take the luster away, I feel like, officially an adult and then there’s no thrill of it. There’s a sort of novelty that comes with teenage anything, adolescent, rebellion, love, adventure. Once I shed that -teen title, that will all go away. In my relative perspective, a year feels like an entire lifetime, and it’s almost like I can feel all of the things I’m missing, every opportunity that wasn’t met.
It makes my head hurt.
I want to get up and take an Advil, but doing that would require getting out of bed, and getting out of bed would mean admitting to myself that there’s an entire world outside of my sheets and pillows that I’m not really a part of.
I’ve heard people say that all of this goes away once you become an adult, but I’m not too sure I want that. I feel like life wouldn’t be as exciting if I didn’t have to constantly worry about when my next mental breakdown was going to be.
It’s exactly 1:07 AM, I told myself I was going to sleep two hours and twenty seven minutes ago. Just like I told myself I was going to get a job, drink more water, learn to play the drums, and stop pushing everyone away.
I wonder if people who type every text message they send in a grammatically correct structure have higher stress than people who don’t. If I had to do that every time I wanted to talk to someone, I don’t think I’d have any friends. Not because they’d be annoyed by my uptight “I-think-I’m-smarter-than-you-and-I’m-going-to-show-you-that-by-using-commas-and-periods” messages (although they almost positively would be), but because I’d just get so tired of putting so much effort into that that I just wouldn’t talk to anyone.
Being only seventeen, I’ve found that my feelings and opinions are not seen as valid because of my age. Like, because I haven’t been breathing for at least eighteen years that automatically condemns my voice to fall on deaf ears, or become a magnet to contradiction. I wait for the day that I can say something of substance to an adult and actually be taken seriously. I’ve tried, and I know that now is not that time. They’re often surprised at what I have to say, even if they have the same opinion. I’m sorry I don’t want to talk about who said what and the latest gossip, but just because I don’t have a high school diploma yet doesn’t mean I can’t have my own views on the world.
I wonder what it will be like to be my own person.
I think I left the bathroom light on.
I want to go to sleep.