Seventeen. Oh what I would do to be done with that number. It doesn’t get you anything more in life. Seventeen, the year I had no friends. Seventeen, The year I had my second hip surgery. Seventeen, The year I realized just how bad I had let everything get. It’s a lonely number. Prime, alone, and scared. Being so alone you would rather have the bad things happen again just so you would have people. People your own age. My only people are either adults or in other states. I want people, truly I do. I’m just so scared of what they will do and when they will decide it’s too much. No, I’m too much. 

To not care if they abandon me, now that would be perfect. To be able to be happy for people. To be able to do what I once loved. To not cry every time someone talks about theater. To not mourn a self that is long gone. To not live in fear of every moment.