I wrote this when I was 17
Much different than my 16 year old self, but still the same girl
It was the introduction to my autobiography for Mrs. Lantz’s class
“The real question is not where to begin, but how to even begin to explain. Do I tell of my moments of pure ectasy or the moment that my foundation made of sand finally collapsed? Do I try and explain my anarchist tendencies or the way I escape to my dreamer’s world 99% of the time? Do I tell of my naive idealism, the way I attempt to restrain my passion, or the way I reminisce about a seemingly insignificant object? How can I explain how much I believe in people or how I believe that everyone is so undeniably beautiful? The feelings that occupy the depths of my heart and the sounds of my soul can never be properly translated onto paper. My mind spins in a constant, turbulent riot(Thanks Fitzgerald). It echoes with blissful memories while I struggle endlessly to firmly grasp the lessons learned by subsequent failures and the ever present doubt which pervades my thoughts. Even so, I know that my heart will never surrender to the devil and believe his empty lies. I have known what it feels like to be at the top of the world but I have also known how quickly something can be taken from you. I have felt powerful, powerless, and both simultaneously. My bitten, marred nails attest to my ambivalence. But I will not bore you with my proverbial nonsense when at this point in my life, nonchalance, indifference, and ignorance prevail. So here I sit, wondering if the input of so much energy and nostalgia will be worth it. But I must try. After all, paper never refuses pen.”
