When I was sixteen, I kept a blog in which I kept some of my more, seemingly, interesting thoughts. The blog saw the self-important thoughts of a teenage girl who was in desperate need of some perspective and perhaps some anti-depressants. It's painful, sometimes, to read the things that the sixteen year old girl that was me thought was important. But I'm not disappointed that I wrote those thoughts. Documented on those posts are the first time I fell in love, my first kiss, getting accepted into college, moving to college. Fights with friends, fights with enemies. Thoughts from happy days, thoughts from sad days. Pictures, prose, song lyrics, instant message conversations that make little sense. Things that, at one point in time, were important to me. Things that are still important to me.
I used to have this theory that things have to be written eloquently to be important. No, not necessarily important, but remembered. In order to remember something, I had to write it in an important way. I don't necessarily think that way anymore. Since then, I've documented my life in a variety of ways. Through photos, through blog posts, through tumblr posts. Facebook statuses, tweets, scribbles in the moleskine notebook I bought in January 2010. I've written a few novels since then, and a variety of short stories. I've finished little of them. I finish little of the things I start, but I always have good intentions.
I'm no longer a sixteen year old girl. In fact, I'm a nearly twenty-three year old young woman. The realization shocks me sometimes. I don't feel like a grown up in the lightest. I still, in many ways, feel like a teenager. I'm old enough to pay bills and think about love and wish for things. I'm old enough to make decisions on my own and look at apartments. I've lived in my own apartment. I'm responsible in some ways, and irresponsible in just as many.
That's okay. If you would have asked me five years ago, I would have insisted that by the time I turned twenty-three, I would more-or-less have my life together. I'm nowhere near that. But that's one hundred percent okay. I'm not the person I expected, but I'm happy. I'm able, in a way that I never thought possible at sixteen, able to form healthy relationships with people. I have my depression under control in a way that it hasn't overtaken me since 2010. I haven't hurt myself since 2009.
I don't know exactly what the goal of this post was, other than to put my thoughts down. I don't know how often I'll update this blog or what the contents will be. I can't promise daily posts or weekly posts. I've learned not to commit to anything like that. I'll update when I feel content to do so. Perhaps it will be long, rambly posts that prove some point. Perhaps it will be a photo. Or a song lyric, an instant message, a tweet. Because those things are okay. Those things can be important. Things don't have to make sense to be important. And that's okay.
-- Rena --
