No, really. Am I?
Wow. I'm breathing. My heart is pounding, and music is thundering in my ears, and I'm sitting in a lecture hall in my high school. I'm not dreaming. I'm alive. I'm living, I'm burning, engulfing. I'm not a fake. Because, in the end, if you're faking something, you're still you, right? You're still plowing on at this great road more commonly known as "life." It's such a shame, that I've wasted fifteen years being someone who wasn't me. I am a beautiful person, as we all are; I am such a great story to tell. I deserve more than a premature obituary. I have a beautifully crafted story to tell. Who should tell it but me?
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