Blank

    A blank page with no words. That's where this blog post originated from. And that's what it looked like for the first hour of its life. 

    That's how depression feels for me: like a blank page. When I try and speak, I can't get the words out. I'm thinking so much yet so little. I can't express what I'm feeling, there's no way to describe it, but I know I'm feeling a lot. It's an endless cycle, a giant paradox of thought. 

    When I first considered writing my college essays, I had no idea what to write about. Understandably, that's how a lot high schoolers I've talked to feel as well. We all just live our lives, day by day, nothing special, and we're often too busy to reflect or take note of defining moments until they've passed so long ago. 

    Not only was this blog a blank page, and my head a blank page, and my words a blank page, but ultimately, my life feels like a blank page. For years I've just been trying to survive, take it day by day. My goals have been short term, my friendships: short term. Every part of me seems to constantly be evolving. I don't remember who I was my first year of high school. I wouldn't recognize the person I was a year ago if she walked passed me on the sidewalk. The people I'm currently surrounded by were completely different just a few, short months ago. 

    And every time I change, all the words from the story of my life are deleted, and I'm left once again with a blank page. How could I possibly understand the culmination of my life, my turning point, if I'm not even sure who I am now? Or, how could I tell someone else about me? And how will I manage to get the words out if my mind is just blank.