I ran out of Pixie Dust last week.

This is me, this is all you get. Shadowed eyes, twitching foot, wrinkly hair, hypochondriac, colorless lips, this is what I am.

She is not spiritual enough, so they give me guilt. She’s not charitable enough, so they give me checklists of community service. She’s not rich enough or fulfilled enough, so they give me a job. She’s not smart enough, so they give me too many classes and all of them are too hard for me. She’s not musical enough, so they give me opportunity. She’s not kind enough, so they give me impossible people. She’s not happy enough, so they give me stress and money. She’s not wise enough, so they give me stacks of unfinished books by my nightstand. She’s not alert enough so they give me an earlier alarm clock. She’s not skinny enough so they give me mirrors and food. She’s not strong enough, so they give me a backpack to put all the things in and they say here, this will strengthen your muscles. Yesterday they found a girl collapsed on the side of the road and she was wearing a backpack.

It’s 11:34 and I am so tired. I could probably stay awake for several more hours given a few Oreos and warm socks, but I have never been so tired. I am behind in everything and am stretched so thin. I feel as if I can only give half of myself to any endeavor and that everything I say is a compromise on something else. I feel like a failure in every direction and my schoolwork is definitely not conducive to real life, which is obviously something only an American teenager would claim. First-world problem #57: I have too many opportunities. I am so exhausted of this pace. Nobody wants to hear me complain either because I chose all of these things. I hand picked them every one. While my idealistic mind wants to experience everything, my body is too tired. I don’t want to drop something, I just want help.

I can’t do anything more: this is what I am, this is where I am. But what if I knew that I was so close? That if I just tried a little harder, I would be enough?