Fifteen

I wish I was fifteen again. Remember being fifteen? (Maybe not; for all I know, you might be younger than fifteen or have memory loss) Fifteen was crazy.

I don't actually want to be fifteen again. I was miserable at fifteen. It was the end of the freaking world almost every day. I was hopelessly in love, and I was never going to love anyone else. My first and last love, I swore. And I was definitely going to flunk out of school, end up on the streets, and starve to death. My parents were going to kick me out because they just didn't understand me. My friends all secretly hated me and were conspiring against me, and I knew it. I'm onto you!

Like most fifteen-year-olds, I was a melodramatic twat. I did stupid things every single day, and I knew it. At fifteen, I knew I was inherently evil. I was Hitler. I'd apply to art school and get rejected over and over until I at last gave up and killed all the Catholics for raising me to feel guilty. The world would hate me forever. Internet arguments would degrade into calling each other Elizabeth-Nazis. Good thing that I'm German.

Fifteen was insane. I was living fast and dying young. My life would end in majestic flames, and that's exactly what I wanted. I had no desire to die a boring, slow, cancerous death; I was going to die living. I felt no shame in filling my body with crap I knew was terrible for it. I was like a drug addict, though I never dared touch anything illegal. For all my recklessness at fifteen, I never came close to even smoking a cigarette. But I chugged down multiple energy drinks in minutes, blew money on candy and sugar and caffeine and everything I could find that would give me the energy to live fast and die young.

And, boy, was I a slut. I mean, I kissed three different people in a year! And I wasn't even married to any of them! I'm definitely going to hell now.

I know, I know, you're rolling your eyes. My fifteen-year-old self makes yours look like the Devil Incarnate. But my fifteen-year-old self makes my eighteen-year-old self look like a dried up old hag. A lonely old hag. Those are the worst. I drink water and eat nothing but meat, vegetables, and fruit. I think sweetened drinks, cookies, and candy all taste gross. Coffee is gross. Hell, I don't even like cheese. Staying out past ten makes me feel scandalous. And the last time I kissed anyone was nearly three years ago. Cooties, gross. I don't have any cats, but that's only because I'm so lame that I live at home with my parents who refuse to have cats.

The idea of doing anything reckless just makes my boring self lecture me on why it's a terrible idea. There are consequences. I'll regret it later. I have students who look up to me, a brother who mimics me, people who want to be like me. I'm responsible for others. I've worked my butt off to get where I am today, to get paid to write and direct and lead others, and recklessness could blow it. I've fought for the respect I've finally started to earn, and doing something stupid could lose me that respect. And I've still got so many battles to fight; I can't afford to lose any right now.

I miss the psychological freedom of fifteen. It's not like I'm all that responsible, really. In fact, I'm immature and irresponsible every day, the past few weeks as clear evidence of that. But my irresponsibility tends to be scandalously not sticking to a good sleep schedule all the time or going on Facebook more than I should. My "partying" is going out to dinner with my family Friday nights.

I wish I was as fearless as I was at fifteen.