Transient Thoughts

I thought I had it all planned out.

“I’m going to abroad first semester, have lots of fun and see Europe, and then come back second semester, cut my hair, make political statements, and wreak some havoc.”

The plan fell apart, re-adapted itself, and when that fell apart as well, I starting crawling instead of walking toward the end.

I don’t know where I’m going, whether in six months I’ll be in college, community college, New York, or just another state of perpetual transience. I walked into this school confident, and I’m leaving as a scared, crushed, and even more confused person. 

“I mean, yeah, it’s a Christian school. Maybe it’ll…I don’t know, improve my faith? What’s the worse it can be? It’s by the ocean.”

I lost my religion at the very beginning, and then later, I lost myself. Pain and ability for safety and pleasure. Innocence swapped for rebellion, confident denial for humble insufficiency. Who am I? I am not sorry and I will not go back. 

Just like my departure (graduation) from high school, I feel like I’ll walk out in shambles, torn up by the briars that I myself chose to venture into. They can’t see the cuts and bruises on my arms, just the make up I use to cover it up. 

“How are you? How are you? I’m fine. Thank you for asking, tell me about your day.”

I started working on a short film recently, one that I had an idea for even before college acceptances. I somehow shook off the major spiderwebs of depression and got the production going. The crewmembers make modest compliments at my initiative, even if that’s all I have to offer. The film is about a woman leaving a implied miserable relationship to walk down a highway and drown herself. 

I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of suicide, and the political or artistic notions of it. 

I had never made the connection that somehow, the music video I dreamt up as a happy to-be college freshman would turn into the same nightmare that I myself would be directing. 

When I hear the song, it rings in my ears.

“Run, run, run away
Lost, lost, lost my mind”

And I feel like I am staring death right back in its eyes. 

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About Amy

Amy is a freelance writer and artist based in LA. Her hobbies include romanticizing her world, having too many moody thoughts, and wandering through neighborhoods she's never been in.
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