I turned sixteen this year. I know that adulthood is much different from my teenage years, but nothing is comparable to my childhood. My childhood where adults weren’t always disappointed in me, where every small moment made me happy, where I always had a big group of friends to play with on my street. 

I visited my childhood home recently and now the street is empty, no basketball hoops or bicycles in the middle of the road. Everybody has already grown up. Although I haven’t seen her in years, my childhood dog died too, and with it I feel the last remaining slivers of my childhood have as well. I’m not suited for adulthood. I’m really not.

My childhood is the only time where I have truly felt happy. Why did it go by so fast, and why did I take it for granted? Even when I look at children I feel a squeeze in my chest because that used to be me. “Enjoy my teenage years”, when every waking moment I’m reminded of how close I am to that stressful, painful life? Impossible, impossible.