Let me tell you a few things, okay?

There will never be a Mumford and Sons song that is quite long enough or a Jonathan Safran Foer novel that doesn’t make me feel weightless and heavy at the same time. There will never be a large enough cup of tea or coffee, nor will there be a time when drinking more than one cup of coffee doesn’t make me throw up. I will probably never be able to walk into a bookstore without buying a book, even when I’m penniless (I’ll beg around until I’ve scrounged up enough). I will probably never be an artist, even though I bought I book to teach me how to draw animals. I will always hate being told what to do or think. I will never be as close to my parents or my sisters as I should and want to be. My dad will probably never know that he’s my hero, even though I hate some of the decisions he’s made. My mom will probably never know that she breaks my heart because when I look at her, I see myself, and I am so desperately sad that I know she must be sad, too. I will never be close to the girls I graduated high school with because I don’t… care. I don’t want to be with someone who has things in common with me because I want to never stop learning about them, never stop being challenged to do new things that I may not like, never become stagnate. I don’t want the world to dictate who I am, not in any way. I’m a terribly stubborn, ridiculous, infuriating, strange, flighty, undependable, fiercely loyal, loving, empathetic, flawed person who not only is lost but sort of doesn’t want to be found. That’s just who I am. That’s who I have always been. 

I wasn’t made to fit in and I’m finally okay with standing out.

You know what else? I hate the sun. I love thunderstorms but I don’t like sitting in dark rooms. Thunder thrills me but, depending on my mood, it can strike terror into me. I want to be left alone but I don’t like to be lonely. I get annoyed when people text or message or call me but I feel neglected when they stop. I believe in things that no one else understands because I live in my own little world and I know that, and I’m alright with that. I’m a contradictory person. I complain so much and I whine. Boy, do I whine. One time, Hank let me lay there and whine incoherently for a solid ten minutes. I even threw my legs and arms all over the place in a proper tantrum. Because it does make me feel better. Sometimes you just need to let it all out. Sometimes life isn’t fair and you’re mad and you just need to throw a good, old-fashioned temper tantrum. And why not? Why be an adult if you still have to follow rules? 

I just have a lot of feelings and I don’t know where to store them right now.

And I hate that I don’t know how to pronounce Safran or Foer.


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