the truth: i’m a private school kid that thinks he’s an adult but he’s really is still a 16-year old. i feel like i’ve missed out on hundreds of experiences throughout the past few years. i’m worried about dying before people get to know who i am but i dislike social interaction and feeling like i don’t fit in. i place far too much importance than is genuine on a talent i cultivate only because people say i should. i was raised well and with plenty and i pretend that i was never raised with anything because i don’t want to admit that i stop myself from getting what i want. i’m a people-pleaser, and I don’t understand how i don’t have to keep trying to make others happy. i’m a complainer and i’m selfish, and other people aren’t as important to me as i am, but i do care what they think of me. i’m consider my mistakes ultimate failures, and translate my realizations and moments of clarity as inadequacy. i’m insecure and like to think people don’t know, and i hate talking about myself. but i do it anyway, just in case someone is listening. i bring attention to myself and enjoy fantasizing about how i will some day influence the world, but i’m kept silent by my fears, anxieties and the constant worry that i’m about to lose everything. so why care about anything when it’s easier to save my time and energy and only worry about myself?

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but it’s okay because that’ll all disappear if you hit this right here, it’ll all go away in a flash, they say. so i follow their lead and burn up that weed, then i find out that their words are true. the tickle of unease and the sound of a wheeze, and i’m gone. i’m home. it’s the truth.