Seven Years Gone

At twelve years old, you shouldn’t worry about having a relationship.

At thirteen years old, you shouldn’t hate your life.

At fourteen years old, you’re not supposed to be wishing that your life would end.

At fifteen years old, you shouldn’t have to worry if you are good enough to be loved.

At sixteen years old, you shouldn’t be wondering who you can trust.

At seventeen years old, you shouldn’t be counting the tears falling down your face.

At eighteen years old, you shouldn’t be writing “good-bye” letters.

I wish I could go back and talk to twelve year old me. I wish I could tell her that things get better. I wish I could tell her to concentrate on making herself happy. I wish I could tell her that relationships come and go and she will eventually find someone that stays. I wish I could tell her that staying up all night thinking about everything isn’t worth the insomnia. I wish I could tell her to push herself to dream bigger and better than she ever could’ve imagined. Seven years gone. Filled with anxiety. Dealing with depression. Every day is still a battle at twenty four years old. I still go through the moments that I did every year since I was twelve years old. It was seven years of my life that I lost out on, but I still have many more years to give myself the life I always dreamed and prayed for.