Happy Birthday to me, I’m finally 18.

I’m finally free and able to do what I want. 18 and free is what I am! Am I free though? Free to go to Quick Trip at 3 in the morning without being told I can’t or leave my house in the middle of the night when my friend is having a bad night without being told wait till the morning. Or free to go on a crazy random road trip to Florida or California without being asked where I’m going. Free to think on my own and not be corrupted by others thoughts and opinions.

Although to be honest I’m not truly free because I’m still chained to my life before. Chained to a world full of disappointment and people who tear you down until you are nothing but somebody who gets pushed around by others and not aloud to express what I’m feeling. By 18 I thought I would have more than what I do now or at least it would all be different. Be different and not be a statistic. That’s right a statistic I was by age 18. A statistic of parents getting divorced caused by adultery. A statistic of depression. A statistic of being belittled everyday by simple words. A statistic of being slammed into a door and thrown down a stair-well.

As you grow you never think of yourself as being a statistic. If you do you think maybe a statistic of being a girl or of being born with copper red hair, but nothing as intense as mine. And with myself being a statistic being scared that all this has happened and I’m only 18.

Happy birthday to me, right?