Tell us all about the person you were when you were sixteen. If you haven’t yet hit sixteen, tell us about the person you want to be at sixteen.— http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/only-sixteen/
Oh, God, 16.
16 was not a good year, I can tell you that. Actually, honestly, most of my seventeenth year was spent in a depression cycle I couldn’t even flounder to the surface of. I was so far gone that I forgot that the hole in which I was living could be a tunnel with a light at the end. I turned 16 my sophomore year of high school, which was also the last year that my best friend went to school with me.
It was the year I got drunk for the first time and almost lost my job from being hungover. It was the year I started smoking–because I decided that I wanted to do something stupid. I know, right? The hell was wrong with me? I think I was just trying to find my way back above water and trying anything to get me there. Even though my chosen methods were such to throw me further yet down. Not the smartest, I realize.
I went to 2 proms that year, one in my hometown with a friend, and one halfway across the state with a guy I had a crush on (although he turned out to be a bit of a loser). I also discovered how fricking overrated prom was. That was a letdown. Oh well.
Frankly, I barely remember that entire year because I kind of worked really hard to block out most of my life back in Stanley. It was unpleasant and it’s better not to have to think about it. Soooo I don’t. You know.