I am seventeen years old. What the fuck?

Lately I’ve been looking back on my childhood, which feels weird, because I’m not even that old. But I’m also almost eighteen years old, which is fucking terrifying, to say the least. I don’t know if I’m ready to be legally responsible for all the dumb bullshit I do.

When I was a small child, I was like any small child: I liked to make disgusting noises & I loved dirt. I screamed a lot, I rolled around in my designated Dirt Pit in the backyard, and I would watch The Jimmy Timmy Power Hour almost ritualistically. I just didn’t care. I was leaving a trail of chaos in my wake everywhere I went, but it was cute, because I was a small moron. As I grew older, I became increasingly aware of how fucked up everything was. Like, why are women treated like shit? That’s something that isn’t good, especially if you identify as female, which I do. Also, why did my parents yell at each other so much? Why is it that I see so many wrinkly old white men on the news? Why does PETA kill animals? Why is racism a thing? Why is Donald Trump actually gaining any traction in the polls? Why won’t Blank Banshee just make a new fucking album?

While these questions brewed, I became more and more self-conscious — about my hair, my acne, my hairy legs, my constantly sweaty palms. Everything seemed to be so wrong. I knew it was natural for me to feel this way, but that didn’t stop me from feeling it. All my friends were getting attention from handsome, smart, and funny boys, and guess what? Ya girl Nina Online just got hollered at by a fifty-something-year-old man going down Route 108.

The fucked-up-edness of the world combined with my increased self-hatred did not mix well. Now I am still confused, and I still think I look like a greasy white hairball with fire ants crawling on it. Everything has just made me angry. Subconsciously, I’m hoping that the very second I turn eighteen, all of this will disappear, like Cinderella changing from a plebeian bimbo into a noble bimbo. I know that’s not the case at all, but it’s wishful thinking.