Me; “a complex soul”. Looking over the items in my locker I’ve found they all have some common ground. Every item can take me back to a memory when things were better within an instant. But as of right now I’m being consumed by my own soul. A soul that feeds off of pieces of writing and melody's of music. Constantly I’m fighting a war in my head. The words and opinions I have on life just banging to come out. But what I haven’t informed you of yet is that my voice is clipped. Silenced by other humans and silenced by my own thoughts. I’m constantly trying to escape. From various kinds music to the writings of Jane Austen I find myself hidden in the pages, lost in the melody. Whereas in other cases I need a place or person to hide from my mind. 

When I tell people “I want to be an author when I grow up” I can’t help but think to myself am I good at it?  One of the main reasons I’ve wanted to be an author is because I understand people. I understand emotions, situations… people. I’ll admit I’m definitely not a people person but I still want to help them find what their looking for. My brain wires on weird edges and forms. So intense yet so fascinating. When I write it’s like all these stresses and feelings are just flooding out of me. Truer words can not have been spoken when reading a book or listening to music. That’s just how my brain operates and I would like to be one of those people whom someone can read my work to get a deeper understanding and perspective in their life. But I can never be sure if it has. 

Am I crazy? They won’t understand. Your not good enough. Put some makeup on. Nobody cares. “I don’t wanna be alone”. Your alone. Alone.

Loneliness. I know I have many problems. But I think the main key to my complex self and hardwired thinking is me. There’s no sugar coating it. I’m not like any of the characters you would read in a story or watch on TV. I’m just a teenager fighting for survival. Hiding her identity. Come to close and she’ll explode. She’s all to herself, head constantly in pages of books and writing. Airpods blasting music so loud non-stop till she can’t hear her own thoughts. More than anything she wants to be found. She wants to be understood. She wants someone to hug her and tell her “it’s gonna be okay”. Even though she’s gonna resist and try to push you away she does it in spite of getting hurt. She’s already so broken and lost; she’d rather just cover up and pretend to be someone else so she doesn’t get judged. She’s a mess. She’s anxious. She’s broken. She’s lost. She’s all of the above. She’s “a complex soul”.