I’ve spent twelve years living with a man whom I believed to have been teaching me right from wrong, only to discover that what he was actually doing was called physical abuse. I spent five years slicing myself open so I could stuff my feelings further down. I spent two years dedicating my time and energy to a best friend, only to have them tell me I wasn’t enough for them. I spent three years invested in the life of a new best friend, only to lose myself and my life in the process. I spent two years hating myself and rejecting part of my identity because it didn;t fit my parents’ idea of “the perfect child.” I spent two years trying my hardest to win the heart of a girl I loved, only to fail time and time again and damage our friendship irrepairably. I spent five years finding things to hate about my hometown, only to completely miss out on all of the things there are to love.
I’m seventeen, and I have no idea who I am because I never took the time to find out. I’m leaving for college in four months. I don’t know what I like or what makes me happy. I don’t know how to maintain healthy friendships, or ask someone out on a date. I don’t even know how to not hate myself.
I don’t know who I am. Will I ever?