Somebody recently told me, “If there is something you need to get rid of, you should write it down and throw the piece of paper out.”

As I began to attempt my “teenage vignette,” I realized somewhere in the middle of my tenth “start,” that it sucked, and that it was going to continue to suck. The reason quickly became evident: I wasn’t writing a real account of ‘teen angst,’ or telling the story that I needed to get rid of. So I began again, this time I chose not to write about teen angst, but to write through my own.

First of all, what the hell is it? A bundle of questions, confusion, and emotions is my best attempt at explaining it.
For starters, love. Everyone dreams about it, craves it, but does so without reassurance that it even exists. I personally have to ask myself if it does, or if people spend their time lulling themselves into a false sense of safety, which can be often confused with the term “love.” Then, I ask myself, is love even worth existing? Because if there is love, there is hate: which is why with love, there is hatred. That must be why people think it’s okay to hurt the people they “love.” It must be why people think it’s okay to lay a hand on the people they love, and why that can come from every person who has ever been “in love” with you.
Friends? What does that word even mean? I know it’s a noun, plural - to be exact. But what is a friend? Other than those few people who I know would do anything for me, I couldn’t tell you. And, to be honest, those few people aren’t even friends, they are family. Half of the people I call “friends” would do anything to get ahead, would take my success as a challenge, and my defeats as a victory. Even I know I am not a good friend, I go behind my “friends” backs, and I have done what I know will hurt the people I care about, but did it none the less, on multiple occasions. We are all guilty of the same bullshit, so what is a friend other than a foe, a fight?

Pride – the ability to hold your head high. But how can you really be proud when you don’t think you’re actually good enough. When that crown you have on your head could slip, or be stolen, at any moment. How can you be proud when you get back test after test of a failing grade or an “I think you can do better…” Not even a confirmatory, “I know you can do better.” How can pride exist, and do we even want it to? The people who appear to emulate “pride” also display sadness, exhaustion.
This is my teenage vignette, the question of love and hate, the worries of friend or foe, the angst of never being good enough. And since I need a grade, I guess handing it in works just as well as throwing it out.