I always thought of high school as a labyrinth—a maze where everyone seemed to know the way out but me. Home was no better, a place that once felt warm but had grown cold and full of tension.
I spent hours in my room, not in solitude but in conversation—with myself. I’d narrate my day to the four walls, sometimes wondering if they’d answer back. At times, I’d replay memories of happier times, picking apart every detail. Those quiet talks became my lifeline. I told myself everything I couldn’t say to anyone else. Slowly, I began to understand the girl in the mirror. I learned to name the ache in my chest, the fleeting joys, and the gnawing fears.
People at school called me quiet. Some mistook it for arrogance, others for shyness. In truth, I was simply overwhelmed. The world outside seemed too loud, too fast. I preferred the company of my thoughts, where I could move at my own pace. But it wasn’t all bad. Those hours of introspection planted seeds of self-awareness. I began to see patterns in myself—why I avoided certain situations, why certain words stung more than they should.
Years passed, and now here I am—an adult, or at least trying to be. I’ve grown adept at socializing, though it still feels like wearing a costume. Beneath the practiced smiles and polite laughs, I’m still the same girl who talks to herself. Only now, the conversations are quieter, woven into the rhythm of my day.
I overthink everything—whether I said the right thing, whether my work is good enough, whether people like me. It’s exhausting, but it has its gifts. Am told am a good listener, guess I became one not because I have to but because I understand how much it matters. I see the cracks in people’s words, the pain they try to hide, and I try to be the person I once needed—someone who listens without judgment.
Today... I again maneuver through my memory lane and end up wondering about the future. Will I ever outgrow this need to analyze every moment? Or is this just who I am? I think about the girl I used to be and the woman I’ve become, and I realize I’m still walking through that labyrinth. The difference is, now, I’m not searching for the exit.
Life just goes on, messy and unpredictable. I don’t know what’s coming, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe the point isn’t to find the way out, but to keep walking, one step at a time, through the maze..
I spent hours in my room, not in solitude but in conversation—with myself. I’d narrate my day to the four walls, sometimes wondering if they’d answer back. At times, I’d replay memories of happier times, picking apart every detail. Those quiet talks became my lifeline. I told myself everything I couldn’t say to anyone else. Slowly, I began to understand the girl in the mirror. I learned to name the ache in my chest, the fleeting joys, and the gnawing fears.
People at school called me quiet. Some mistook it for arrogance, others for shyness. In truth, I was simply overwhelmed. The world outside seemed too loud, too fast. I preferred the company of my thoughts, where I could move at my own pace. But it wasn’t all bad. Those hours of introspection planted seeds of self-awareness. I began to see patterns in myself—why I avoided certain situations, why certain words stung more than they should.
Years passed, and now here I am—an adult, or at least trying to be. I’ve grown adept at socializing, though it still feels like wearing a costume. Beneath the practiced smiles and polite laughs, I’m still the same girl who talks to herself. Only now, the conversations are quieter, woven into the rhythm of my day.
I overthink everything—whether I said the right thing, whether my work is good enough, whether people like me. It’s exhausting, but it has its gifts. Am told am a good listener, guess I became one not because I have to but because I understand how much it matters. I see the cracks in people’s words, the pain they try to hide, and I try to be the person I once needed—someone who listens without judgment.
Today... I again maneuver through my memory lane and end up wondering about the future. Will I ever outgrow this need to analyze every moment? Or is this just who I am? I think about the girl I used to be and the woman I’ve become, and I realize I’m still walking through that labyrinth. The difference is, now, I’m not searching for the exit.
Life just goes on, messy and unpredictable. I don’t know what’s coming, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe the point isn’t to find the way out, but to keep walking, one step at a time, through the maze..
means a lot. Ty
