When I was a little girl and I was lonely, I always thought that I was feeling that way because I was a little girl. Because my brain was half-formed and still growing. And that when it was finished I wouldn’t feel so alone in there. That maybe the part I was always waiting on to develop and grow would put something else up there so I wouldn’t have to be alone in there anymore. And now, I’m grown up. I’m grown up. I’m in the city I always wanted to be grown up in since I was five looking up ballet companies and colleges on the giant computer I used to play webkinz on. Or google the lyrics of Taylor Swift songs as I imagined what it would be like to have a boyfriend someday. And now I’ve had a boyfriend. I’ve had my heart broken. I danced the role I always wanted to dance. I went to the school I wanted to go to. And I’m here, in this city I always wanted to be in. And I don’t know what’s next, because I’m grown up and I’m not a little girl. And all I can think about is the fact that I was a little girl once. And I was lonely. But I had so much to hope toward. Including the idea that one day, I wouldn’t be so lonely inside of my own head. And I’ve achieved all of the dreams I dreamed. And I have none of them left. I’m just here, now, carving myself inside out every weekend. Trying to get outside of my own head. Because I don’t want to be alone up here anymore, I can’t I can’t I can’t.
I was a little girl once.
I try to think about how proud she would be of me. But I just remember how I cried when I turned ten because it was halfway to twenty and I knew that when I grew up, I’d move away from the people I loved who I knew would always love me no matter what and that I’d chase all my dreams and maybe achieve them and somehow I would end up alone with my own thoughts – thoughts I always read and danced and laughed and watched to get away from.
I hated going to sleep, even as a little girl. Because then I’d be alone up here. Even that young, I knew it didn’t feel right to sit still, to be alone up here.
I was a little girl once.
Wasn’t I? Am I still? Can I be one?
I want dreams I want new dreams I want good ones I don’t want to be afraid of going to sleep anymore.
I want to be ten again. I want time to move backwards. I want to wake up and say good morning to my family and get ready for school and go to recess and dance and tell my mother about my day. What is left. Why did I rush though it. Why was I so eager to grow up.