So basically, I'm a 6 year old that swears.

First day of high school tomorrow. What the hell was I thinking? I went to school to register and I saw the sophomores over there like "nom nom nom..." Kids are roaming the halls like it's a completely normal thing to do during class. And the librarian did not want to give me my books until the computer system was up and running.

Today I cried in the dressing room again. And I cried when I left treatment today for the last time. I'm leaking. Like a broken pipe. Like a water bottle you left in your backpack. Like like like.

Reasons I'm still six years old:

• I like to color.
• I like chocolate milk.
• My mom makes my snacks for me.
• I am picky picky picky about my foods touching.
• I can't cartwheel.
• I look for yellow cars everywhere I go.
• When I think about my "first day of school," I swear I'm not sleeping tonight. Even though I woke up late for the first day of my senior year. I never said it had to make sense.
• I miss my imaginary friend.

And I keep beating myself up even though Nelson told me to carry my crayons with me wherever I went.

You, you tourist.. You that won't ever read this. You're the one who will tell me I'm not innocent enough to be six anymore. And you're right. You. You're the life of the party but you're too afraid of opening up anything but a bottle of beer. BTdubs, your friend messaged me on Facebook last night telling me you'd been thinking about me. Lies. And I was upset with all these intrusive memories of you. The day we sluffed seminary and kissed the whole time in the park. The times you told me I was never as pretty as the girls you hung out with. The night we... And it all shoved past my careful wrought-iron gates. Those ones which I had ordered specifically after you. After you had broken down the cement walls, the brick enclosure, and stumbled blindly, effortlessly into my heart. I was too broke to order anything else. Well friends with benefits after relationships never do work, dear... That's why I'm back to building. Erecting more gates. Ha. Erect. Guess I'm not a six year old anymore.

I saw you at the dance last week, yeah you that commented on my blogpost telling me we'd find each other. I know who you are. And when I stopped dancing and looked behind me, I saw you. We even made eye contact, which was kind of a big deal for me. And I'm sorry I stared. Listen, I tried to catch your eye, thinking if you looked long enough, you'd see. "Maybe you were looking, but you weren't really seeing." But it's my insides you'd recognize.

And if you see a girl with a shock of blonde hair that looks like she knows where she's going, but doesn't want to go there... please be nice to her.

Ten bucks that's me.