They say time does not last, but a memory will. Unfortunately, a memory does not always serve the positive requirements that we burden upon it. My memories serve only to haunt me of who I once was, and who I never will be. Home videos are the only trace left of the happy extrovert I once had known myself to be. In particular, one can see a skinny, blond-haired child dancing on the streets of Disney World and striking poses, like a runway model, for the passing strangers. I wanted to be noticed, for everyone to look at me, as I smiled and leaped off and on the curb of the sidewalk. Those days did not last.
             When did I change? That question can never be answered. It has been so long since I have been able to remember being that happy child. Somewhere in middle school, a new identity arose within me. I became fragile to other people's words. I was constantly on guard against the limitations and criticisms from people I once considered to be my friends. They were a horrible group of friends; the type that could condemn you for life just for wearing generic brand shirt, and not Gap. Each morning I would wake up with the prospect of a new opportunity for happiness among my friends. Each day my hopes were shattered as I walked into the classroom, and with just one glance, shock myself back into reality. My stomach churned with anxiousness as the racing of my heart caused my head to become dizzy. I wanted to flee from the unbearable torture that awaited me and hide like a groundhog for all winter; unlike a groundhog whose only job is to sleep, I had to be in school. It was in this grou!
             p of people I associated with that I lost my sense of self, my independence, and my childhood.
             The torture did not stop there. The guys I chose to give my heart to, in hopes of restoring faith that someone could care for me, returned the favor with nothing more than empty words and absent appearances. I would share more about the pain I suffered fr...