I am from the town where everyone knows everyone, where everyone who walks into the Bagel Pantry on a Sunday morning has a ten minute conversation with someone with a familiar face.
I am from the town where the teens think they’re having the time of their life when they have a beer in their hand, where dreams turn into the teenagers smoking something under the park bridge.

I am from the strong aroma of coffee that enters my system when I step into work, the warm feeling of a freshly cooked bagel when I make my lunch.  The taste of cream cheese and sesame seeds satisfying my taste buds.
I am from the sounds of a train passing by during the middle of the night in the small apartment I live in, the sight of odd little shops outside my window.

I am from my insecurities, also known as my own affliction, the reason why I can hardly properly function.
I am from little white pills, the countless amount of times I’ve sliced my own skin open just to feel something besides pure numbness.

I am from a world filled with social injustices such as sexism, racism, homophobia, and transphobia, but I hope it changes one day.
I am from a world filled with mental illnesses that are not taken seriously, but I hope someone soon recognizes that they are not adjectives.

I am from my anxiety, the panic attacks I have experienced and the endless amounts of sleepless nights.
I am from my depression, which is the worst thing I could feel in my life.

I am from divorced, bitter parents who spend too much of their time worried on one another to see that their daughter hasn’t been doing well for six years.
I am from packing my clothes into duffle bags and bringing my laptop to school on exchange days.

I am part of a generation filled with fat shaming, where you’re a plus sized girl if you’re not under a size 3.
I am part of a generation filled with social media, where everyone sees everything you do, and there is no way of stopping it.

I am from my mother’s old kitchen, and the floor that I ripped up when I was five years old.
I am from the couch I fell asleep on, and she didn’t care about anything I did, as long as I came home.

I am from my laptop, sitting on my bed as I blast my music and type for hours.
I am from my mattress, which is as hard as a rock, although it’s comforting to me.

I am from the grey smoke cause by a short cigarette that I quickly inhale, the burning sensation tickling my throat, but I do not mind it.
I am from the flick my lighter says as I spark it, wasting more money and dying sooner with every chemical I allow into my body.

I am from the books in my shelf that I’ve read countless amount of times, and somehow they always make my cry.
I am from the music I spend all of my time listening to, and it doesn’t surprise me that I know every single word.

I am from this life I was stuck with, but it’s a journey.