fifteen

I am 15, a rising sophomore struggling mentally. Can’t motivate myself to do much, still dreading the first day of school. I often find the phrase “I can’t” pouring out of my mouth as I feel out of control, laying in my mom’s arms. I thought I had improved, maybe not enough to make a difference. At least I'm trying. But things aren't always so bad.

But I once was 14, experiencing my first year of high school, not knowing what to expect. I keep telling myself it wasn’t terrible, but it was essentially the elevator to hell and once I got there I just sat in the fire knowing there wasn’t a way out. Some days I stood up, tried a little more. Most of the time I felt like I couldn’t. Anyway, it wasn’t terrible.

13, prepping for what are supposed to be the “best years of my life”. Can’t say the first year felt like that, but maybe I’m supposed to wait a little while. Maybe I’ll give this year the chance I never thought I would. I might as well give it a shot. It’s the last year before looking at colleges anyway, but I’ve decided not to think about that.

12, unaware of the assumptions people would make about me after I cut my hair short. I didn’t ask for them, didn’t want them, and still don’t. I just wanted a change, you know? There was never another meaning behind it. 12 years is a long time and that’s how long I had long hair. Is it really that weird to want a drastic change?

11, going into middle school, something I had been excited for since fourth grade. I wish I never had that mentality of wanting to grow up. Because now? It’s blown far away and I sure as hell don’t hope it finds its way back.

10, deciding then and there that I would be a musician when I grew up. I was set on being the next Billy Joel, the next prodigy, and I wanted my entire life to be music. That was until about eight months ago, when I started crying in a diner, afraid I was losing my passion for piano, the thing that had held me for nine years. And although I keep playing, the keys feel distant, sound fading from the fire it once held. That’s when everything really started, and now, I don’t know what I want anymore.

And I was 9 and 8 and whatever, it goes on. But who really remembers all those years anyway? Sure, I remember some stuff, and some random memories thrown in there that I don’t need. But all I’m doing in elementary school anyway is just having fun and wishing I was older. I’m all for having fun. But wishing I was older? Well, here I am now and I’d like to slap the hell out of 8-year-old me for saying that.

I’d do anything to go back. 

Anything.