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When You’re Twelve Saying “I’m Spending My Life Away”
How depression doesn’t know an age limit
“I feel like the days are going too fast, and I’m spending my life.”
I was twelve years old when I wrote that sentence inside a makeshift scrapbook and journal notebook with Garfield on the front cover, which came off with time.
There are a lot of grammar mistakes in this journal that make me laugh. But, there’s also a lot of pain that I can sense my little self had so much when I was younger. Not belonging with the other girls, I wasn’t doing well at school at all (I literally read my report card where I wrote down my grades, and in English/Literature, I was getting a C, almost a D), and the fact school was a place I went to to get bullied.
I didn’t fit in or want to fit in, so I stuck out like a sore thumb.
The following sentence afterward states I don’t know, I’m just crazy.
The teachers I had didn’t know what to do with me. They pressured me to make friends with the other girls who incessantly bullied me and made fun of me, and I knew I didn’t have anything in common with them. I kept to myself, and I chose not to talk. I was quiet in school and decided to stay in during recess to set my head on my desk until it…
