The 17th Year.

       Well, as of the 5th of January of this year, 2013, I am now 17 years of age.  I feel like I have little to show for it.  I should already have a record deal and Oscar nomination..or at least just one of these.  A character of a long- running television drama would suffice.  Time is flying by.  But not in a good way as I work my way through life (high-school) with giving as little of my heart and soul away to have a steady, normal friend base.  The result?" I know everyone" and everyone knows who I am...but few know me... if any.  I am not looking for pity or sympathy.  I just want to feel something.  I can be so driven.  I can be so disciplined.  So why am I not? Or why am I not getting anywhere with it?  I want to make a difference.  I want to be something.  I want to be someone.  At times I feel as though my feelings are so strong for a reason.  I am destined for more than typicality. And other times I feel as though every middle class American is a bundle of broken dreams and regret.  This regret may be for things wished to be undone.  And some regrets, most I would imagine, are the lack of spontaneity, the risks not taken.  Money can buy happiness.  However, money cannot fill voids nor provide lasting joys.  Still essential to life, of course it is, but it sure does complicate things. Then there are relationships.  A junior in high-school should have a best best friend and boy friend at all times, right?  Boy, I hope not.  If so, add another fail to the list.  Do not get me wrong, I am not one of those girls who gets all mushy gushy, but every human, if honest, craves someone to get that.  We want to be wanted by someone we want.  Chivalry may not be completely dead, but it sure is rare... or taken.  I get so caught in my dreams because reality never measures up, but those dreams build up upon themselves and reality only disappoints me even more.  I hope there is a point to it all.  I hope I have a destiny. But once more, this all still revolves around dreams.  Sometimes I push just to get through the day to escape to music or film or literature or my own chaotic mind to bring some creative peace that may not be real, but it sure makes me feel better.  That is until reality rises with the sun.  It is a vicious cycle.  Almost like alcohol and a hangover.  And suddenly addicts are viewed by me more as victims rather than bad guys.  Coping negatively with negative situations is only natural.  Positive proaction is far more difficult.  I feel a certain extent of numbness.  And that frightens me far more than any pain.