i’m only fifteen years old.
i’ve been depressed, i’ve been anxious, i’ve been to therapy.
i’ve lost grandparents, i’ve gained cousins.
i’ve been through pink and red and purple and black.
i’ve gone through dance, martial arts, piano, violin, poetry, computer programming.
i’ve been through math and science and history and monotony.
i’ve tried music, words, and everything in between and outside of those.
i’ve been athletic, i’ve been out of shape, i’ve been self conscious.
i’ve been through experiments with this shirt and that mascara.
i’ve been through giving up and grabbing a sweatshirt to cover everything up.
i’ve spent time in front of the mirror pinching this and prodding that and covering that other thing up.
i’ve spent too many nights crying into my bed sheets.
i’ve been happy and weird, but mostly i’ve been sad.
i’ve been troubled and stressed and “acting out”.
i’ve been the rebel, the black sheep, the one who talks too much about things that matter.
i’ve been called into the office out of concern for my mental health.
i’ve been through pitying smiles and concerned shoulder pats and “if you need to talk”.
i’ve been a terrible person and hidden all of that away to avoid the strange looks.
i’ve seen families divorce and friends move away.
i’ve seen people fall through the black hole of suicide, only to return without a scratch.
i’ve sat through countless tennis practices and softball games i never wanted to be at.
i’ve been through “i’m better” and “you do it” and “stop”.
i’ve been proud, i’ve been loving, i’ve been a good sister.
i’ve been stressed, depressed, and generally obsessed.
i’ve spent countless nights letting the music drown out my brain because i couldn’t shut it off long enough to sleep more than 4 hours a night.
i’ve been through doctor’s appointments and therapy appointments and a mother who refuses to listen to me.
i’ve been through ocd, anxiety, obscure deficiencies, depression, stress.
i’ve been through shouting matches and slamming doors.
i’ve been through punk and emo and alt and classic rock.
i’ve been through black days and plaid days and yellow days and blue ones.
i’ve been through youth group and church and sleeping in because i can.
i’ve been through “i’m worried about you” and “stop reading that” and “why can’t you just listen?”
i’ve been misunderstood, misjudged, misappropriated.
i’ve been through happy and sad and ripped denim jackets.
i’ve been alone in my room, watching doctor who on my bed, crying into my blankets.
i’ve been alone.
i’ve felt 10 years older than my age.
i’ve felt tried and tested and everything in between.
i’ve felt over with.
i’ve felt used up and beat down and dragged around.
i’ve been on the floor, half dressed, unable to move.
i’ve felt running mascara, wet pages, stained clothes.
i’ve been put down for believing in something really and truly.
i’ve been on stage and off stage and backstage and tired.
i’ve been judged, nicknamed, put away for later use.
i’ve felt tired.
i’ve felt bleak.
i’ve felt dredged out and embarrassed and done with life.
i’ve been an actor, feminist, poet, student, sister.
i’ve been a writer.
i’ve been looked up at and looked down on and told to others to look up to.
i’ve been through considering ending it all.
i’ve been through so much.
i’ve finally started to feel a little bit better.
i’m only fifteen.