20 April, 2011

The Hormonal Arms Race

Who's going to be the first one to have sex, to take drugs, to get their whatever pierced? Who's going to be the first one to loose their friends, to go out at night, to alienat themselves from their parents? Who's going to be the first one to get drunk, to smoke, to party all night? Does it matter? Somewhere along the way we forgot what's important, to enjoy being young, to enjoy being free. We're not tied down by bills, by a job, by family. We can do (within reason) whatever we want. But no, someone came along and say 'Hey! Let's do what the grown-ups do!'. So we did. And we still do. The stories that hit me about people passing out in the street after a night out, about doing stupid things when they're drunk, about whatever the hell they do...it makes me feel sick because, to be honest, I look after THEIR childhood, and I gaze at THEIR childhood enviously. It's not right. I've changed an awful lot in the past year, and I'm forever changing now. New hairstyles, new friends, new attitudes. I have so many different opinions, reflected in what I wear, how I act, what I do. If ever there was a person who was the biggest mix of...everything, it's be me. Me and my friends. We understand how important it is to have a little bit of everything thrown in. Makes you who you are. Much like collecting a momento everywhere you go on holiday, my personality is an eclectic mix of bits and pieces and feelings and actions that I've collected and strung together. It makes ME, ME. And I'm so happy to be me. To be lanky, and blonde, and prone to sunburn. To have strange eyes, and a loud voice, and be an awful dancer. To be sarcastic, witty and cynical. To be trustworthy, understanding, and head-over-heels in loive. I don't care if what I wear looks a bit strange. I don't care if what makeup I have on, if any, it too much or too little. If, for some reason, really black eyes and eyelashes with a totally bare face ever come into fashion, I will be AWESOME. But until then, me and Morticia are off.

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