93

I have 93 drafts from when I was young, I have published a few but the more I read them the more I feel like I really shouldn’t be sharing them. None of them identify with me or even make sense anymore. I try to console with the teenager in me more and more everyday but she drains me, she pulls me down. She was so much, too extra. I have been deeply thinking about making a poetry book of all my teenage poems. Naming it something silly like “The teenage angst poet” or something like that. I have a bad habit of sticking with my first thought, this blog for example being named Jocy’s Adventures when all this site consists of is depressing poetry and writings about how I want to be better.

I have been better, I haven’t been hiding away in a room. I have been showering regularly, I have been happier. I go out more, I don’t have to sit in my car for 30 minutes before going into a store to prep myself for social interactions. This is a huge thing for me, I would cry in my car for 10 minutes, gather myself for 15 and then finally go in smiling and making jokes at the cashiers/employees. No one ever believes I was like this.  I am the type to hide myself, I don’t want people to see the sadness I carry in my pocket everyday. Some days it’s bigger than others. Today it feels so heavy, I can barely lift my legs. Every step is painful, even the ones in the right direction.

I should be applying through Miami Dade County Public School system to become a Teacher/Substitute teacher. But here I am, blasting music and writing about my feelings on a blog that I dont ever see turning a profit for me. This has become more of a public journal than it has been what I intended it to be. I wanted this to be a place where my writing grows, where I become something more. I write here hoping that no one will relate to what I have to say because I would hate for anyone to feel the way I do.

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