A year ago, I was at my peak. I was a varsity cross country runner, published three books, and brought my math grade up by twelve points. What I chose to ignore was my bodies burnout. Overtime, my legs began to deteriorate, I started developing cysts outside and inside my body, and my mental health was declining. And even with this, I believed that my work was not enough, only to be viewed one year later as the hardest I had ever worked. I criticized my grades, my mile time, my writing, only for that passion to be consumed by a fallen spark. Those dreams of being a famous author, a star track runner were put on hold. It’s been one year since I published a book, and it’s been two years since I read a book that I actually enjoyed. They say you can only improve the person that you were yesterday, but it feels like I’ll never able to beat the girl I was freshman year, under fueled and overpowered. When I now tell people about who I am, I no longer associate myself with the things that I do. That word got replaced with “I used to.” I no longer stay up at night, editing pages and reading under my nightlight, but wrapping my head around my arms struggling to finish my math homework. I no longer track my runs or the calories I consume, but eat without guilt or the plan I’d make to burn off that extra weight. I no longer say I want to be a writer, but a lawyer or a doctor. It became a chore. If my younger self would’ve seen me now, she would’ve called me lazy. We had bigger plans, more goals to accomplish. But the reason I wrote, the reason I ran, was to prevent the one thing that was giving me restless nights and constant control over my body- my anxiety. And it’s gotten better. So much better, that I don’t need to write a full book explaining my symptoms, struggles, and thoughts. I can send reels or text my friends without a pain on my side or over sharing the things in my head. I struggle to do that math homework now without panicking. I make friends and go out and have a normal conversation, just like the average teen. The words I’m currently writing aren’t perfect, aren’t superior, but I’m an author who writes down their thoughts, not for perfection. My twelve year old self would probably criticize me for not using big enough words, or forgetting about basic grammar rules. This is what the yearn for perfection and the escape from anxiety at a young age does to you overtime. It prevents you from having a childhood, and so now at sixteen, I’m trying to make up for it the best that I can, not by being perfect, but by being average. I am accepting the fact that I’ll never be who I thought I’d be five years ago. I’m not an athlete. I’m not a famous writer. I’m an average student. And you know what the best part is? I’m no longer afraid of that anymore. I feel like I did everything I could to try to put my work out, and even though it didn’t reach a big group of people, it made a small impact, making my author status average. My GPA went up 4 points, but it’s still average. My scars that were painted over my body during that dark time, make me average when seen in the sunlight. And that’s ok. Because to be average, to still be standing here after every meal skipped, every page filled, and every tear shed, makes me realize that it’s a blessing to be average. I’m awkward, talkative, funny, and kind. This is what I tell people when they ask me to describe myself. Not my achievements, not my accomplishments, but just plain me. Because when those things are taken away, you have to know who you are on the inside too. I only bring writing or track up when someone asks me, because to be average, is to be humble and honest, because I’m not everything, but I did something. And when I return to the keyboard, I’ll no longer write for me, but for others. I no longer need a constant coping mechanism to get me through the day. It saved me once, and now it’s time to let other people to get to the point where they finally feel the freedom of being average. I’m a high school student, I still have time to make a difference, to be successful. But right now, I finally feel like a normal teen, inside and out, and maybe all along, that was the end goal.
