I stood facing the lake, staring out into the light gray sky. I looked at the trees, which were covered by the fog that surrounded the sky. I took a deep breath and sat down, leaning my back against the stump of the old oak tree which was covered in moss and bark that had fallen apart years ago. The cold air felt good against my dry, wrinkled skin. My cracked lips began to bleed as I turned slowly to face the polluted lake again.
Back when I was young, I had glowing skin and healthy hair. I had a tiny figure and big, blue eyes that could entrance somebody. I’d ignore the compliments from friends and strangers, even push them aside. I was a selfish girl; too into my looks. I never appreciated anything. I dropped out of school when I was seventeen, thinking I was too good for that place. I packed my bags and left, leaving nothing but a note for my parents to remember me by. I was living on the streets. Every single day, I thought about going back home. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to face my guilt-stricken parents. I wouldn’t be able to deal with my overprotective sister or my moody teenage brother. So I stayed on the streets. I haven’t seen my family since then.
The worst part about never being able to see my parents again is that I never got to see the looks on their faces when I left. I was immature and stupid and young. I never cared about them or about my friends. I just wanted to be a self-starter. I tried to be independent. I think in some consiousness, I knew I had to go back. But I was too young and too petty to go back to the place where I was loved. I hitchhiked to New York City in hopes of becoming a successful business- woman or an glamorous actress. I ended up having to sleep on the sidewalk. I auditioned for plays and applied for jobs, but the world didn’t want me to succeed. I was too irresponsible, they’d say. That’s where I would stand up and leave. I knew I was irresponsible. I knew I was too young and too immature. But it hurt to hear other people say it.
I turned around slowly to see my old house. What was once a freshly painted balcony was now old and run-down. The red paint was chipped and faded and the once beautiful, detailed woodwork of the fence was bedraggled and cracked. A tear trickled down my face. My family moved out of the house right after I’d left. I don’t know where they went. How could I blame them? The note I left was simple and short. I didn’t write about where I was going. I didn’t want them to come after me or to try and convince me to stay. Why couldn’t I accept the fact that they wanted to help me? I was closed-minded and didn’t think I needed their assistance. But looking back, I wish I’d never left. I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self that I’d just end up in the same exact spot as I originally was. I wish I could tell her to let our parents know that she was hurting inside. That she needed their help.
I’m an old woman now. I never found love or happiness. I never became the great success I set out to be. I did this all for nothing. I keep repeating that sentence to myself. I did this all for nothing. I did this all for nothing.

I did this all for nothing.