Slumber is hard to come by. I find myself turning in bed, switching my pillow, fluffing out my blankets, just trying to find that sweet spot. Turning my fan on and off, opening my windows… 

Or maybe it’s just congestion. 

The other night, I inhaled a deep, dust and debris-filled breath through my mouth, my nose tight and strained. Blowing out my nose proved difficult, one I did with about two or three tissues. 

My friends thought my voice sounded hoarser. Raspy. 

Maybe I’m sick.

Maybe I’m trapped.

I felt like I was trapped at the beginning of my high school journey, although it had just begun. The idea of growing up was burdening, terrifying. Impossible. How did my parents buy a mortgage? How do my parents pay their taxes? How do I budget? 

How do I get an education? 

I don’t understand why teenagers have so many life-changing events in just a few years. Our brains aren’t even fully developed either… and yet, what will your profession be for the rest of your life? Do you like math? Do you like teaching? Do you like helping others? 

I can’t believe I have to empty out my savings for a decision that may make or break me. 

Days spent volunteering for a cord. Days spent helping others. Days spent just to look better on college applications. To be honest, I never thought of volunteering before. The reason I started volunteering was because I was afraid. I’m afraid of failing, afraid of not being accepted, afraid of struggling. Why can’t I volunteer out of passion, instead of looking good on paper? 

Why do I have to take all these classes and drive myself into the floor, just to look good on a disposable sheet of paper? 

The aches at fifteen, the pressures at sixteen, and the spiraling fear of eighteen.

Who am I?

What tissue will suffice? 

When will I stop feeling so small, so strained, so… congested? 

I found clarity in my everyday life. The mundane, the soft, the pastels. The harsh, the rigid, the dull. The honey-filled voices of my friends, the gentle talks of family. Those stressful, unbearable times suddenly clear. Times spent yearning for help… I asked for it. And I got it. 

I don’t know who I am, or what I want to be, or where I want to go. 

But it’s okay. I haven’t met my soul, myself, all of me yet. I suppose I could’ve asked for softer napkins, but this will do. At least I’ll sleep easy tonight.