identity

I'm amazed and disturbed at how quick one can lose who they are. How the words and actions of others can mean so much more than our own. How the approval of everyone around us can become so important that we must love what they love and hate what they hate... even if its ourselves. It makes no sense and yet the past has never been so clear to me... I just hate looking back, but the beginning of our stories are still a part of them, no matter how hard. I also believe that part of me needs those bad times, because even what I view as 'bad' has shaped me in a way that maybe would have never happened without the struggles in life. Either way, it will always be there. I can't forget but in the same respect, I can't dwell on it. In July I leave for art school... my demons won't be coming with me...