I suddenly remembered a blog I kept as a teen and went to access it – some of the stuff in there made me cringe; but it was probably the best favor I did to myself. Write. I could tell that I was immensely lonely, and that writing was my only outlet. And though 90% of the stuff in there is shit there’s 10% of brilliance that I think only teenage angst and emoness could provoke. I actually wrote poems, read, painted and drew a lot more. I almost forgot about that part of my life, and I just spent hours reading through my teenage years. I was pretty much depressed, jaded and trapped.

Glad I’m not a teen anymore.

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