A book on things of the life in my late teens

Have you ever felt like unless you scream, nobody will listen. Unless you give them a show, you are just a shadow. Someone else in the background, there to be ignored, as the main story goes on.

Nothing about me will be interesting, unless I put on a show, unless I make it a story worth listening to. Ain't I a story worth listening by nature? Isn't there something about me, that it is just because I am me that people will want to pay attention to?

Because there seem to be people that no matter what, people are kinder to, is it a lack of beauty? Or my inability to see the kindness I am shown?

Maybe the problem I see in others is actually my own. I see the others lack of kindness, the same lack of kindness I have for myself. But when was I thought to be kind, am I supposed to be innately able to treat myself well even if I was never shown how?

So here I am, left to learn. On my own, a way to be human that is a little bit nerve wracking, existentially painful, innately hard, and a little bit more kind, easy, full, colorful even.

How do I do that? I have no clue, but maybe if you come with me in a calmer way than social media. In a way that doesn't require me to scream, in a way that requires you to put time in effort. Maybe together we will be able to figure things out.

I want this to be my diary. But of a different kind, just like in the stories we tell ourselves about our lives there is a little bit of truth in a huge pile of made up fantasies, in this diary - novel i will put a little bit of fantasy into my reality. In a sense I have every intention of making this as autobiographical as possible, deeply personal, yet, extremely universal. I am way too human by nature, therefore relatable, even on the days I feel like nobody could find pieces of themselves in my story.

So welcome to my non-autobiographical biography.