Rough Week

I have this really bad habbit of shaking when I freak out. Then the fact that I can’t control the shakes, just makes me shake more. What does this have anything to do with anything? I’m shaking. It starts as a smal tremor almost in my heart, but it spreads to my chest and I can feel my shoulders trying to remain still, then my hands. My hands have the shakes of my old grandmother. I don’t know how I picked it up, I know I should put it down these shakes, but its hard. They just throw me off my balance, because literally I’m shaken.

Hardest things about meeting a boy and trying to date him:

“How old are you?”
“Nineteen. But it depends who you ask. My mom will say I’m 83.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m freakishly mature for my age. I sorta had to grow up fast. Skipped a lot of things I guess.”
He shoots me a weird look because I just told him I had to grow up fast. What forced me to grow up fast and why did I miss out on being a little ol’ freshman? I don’t answer his look just close my eyes and lay on my back.
“Does that bother you?” I smile a little glad he’s not going to pry, you just met me. You should keep that idea of me, at least for a little while longer.
“Sometimes. Mostly not though, I just grew faster up I guess.” I look at him and he’s looking at me.
“I use to be crazy my sophomore year. I’m calm now.”

Just like that the conversation just kept going and I couldn’t help but notice the pause that happened after I said I had to grow up fast. I had to learn the difference between love, and consent. I had to learn how to live when all you want to do is stop. I had to learn these things that some people, most people just know.

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