I was born on a Wedensday. 
I came out screaming and I really haven’t shut up since.
I love talking, sometimes too much, and then I talk so much that I begin to speed up and get louder, then stumble over my own words, so no one really understands what I’m saying.
I like dogs, I mean who doesn’t? They’re so soft and sweet. I almost wish that everyone was like this, selfless, loyal, and loving.
Don’t even get me started on loyal, like is it that hard for one person to stick with one person. Monogamy, people. ONE person.
I live in La Scie, I go to Cape John Collegiate, a high school.
High school is great right? I mean there’s always this girl that judges every move you make and a guy who is bitter because he can’t get with you so he spreads rumors about how much you sleep around, or that you send explicit pictures to seven different guys.
How attractive.
Best years of your life though.
I live with my mother, brother and sister.
Maybe that's why I have trust issues. Because the man who was suppose to love me forever, left when I was 11. Not everyone always sticks around for me, people leave, people die, it's the cycle of life though right?
I tend to keep my feelings to myself. I don’t feel. I hate feeling, it makes me feel vulnerable, open, and alive.
And some days I just don’t want to be alive.
I find it easier to get angry, to shout, to yell, to get bitter. It is so much easier than processing the feelings that are thrown to one side in the room, that is my head
They’re piled in a chair that I tend to ignore, hoping that if I ignore them long enough, they’ll go away.
The anger spews out of me like a volcano. The hot lava coming from my mouth burns through the ears of the loved ones around me who are  just trying to help.
I talk to myself, to process my thinking. I think. A lot. My head filled with the “what ifs” that keep me awake, tapping against the window, poking at me, and breathing down my neck.
I am trapped inside my own head, screaming to get out but it is like there is no volume, I have been put on mute. I have been calling for help for years but no one has answered my calls.
They send me to voicemail. I leave so many messages behind but no one seems to check their answering machine.
I am depression’s favourite meal.
The piece of steak that it has bitten off that it keeps chewing and chewing. Forcing me down its throat with sleepless nights and insecurities. Depression has been trying for years to devour me but I am too tough, too bitter and too strong for it to swallow.
This is me. 
I get weak in the knees for a guy with blue eyes and a sense of humor.
I am afraid of heights.
But, I jump too quickly, without looking to the ground to see if someone is going to catch me or if I’ll fall flat on my face.
I like cats.
I wear a lot of hoodies. Maybe because the cotton provides the warmth I crave.
I know that no matter how many dark days that I have had the good will still come.
The sun will rise and then set again and a life will go on. I will be okay.