I was born in a hospital, wrapped in blankets with a tiny hat to match. I was held for the first time by my father. He watched as I stretched and wiggled and took notice of this world.

My sadness and frustrations become clear to me. The time I’ve lost and forgotten, moments fleeting before I can even grasp it. Hopelessness, and the reality of things I can’t control. A world I don’t recognize. A dog preparing to die. 

I feel too grown-up for my own good. And I think I’ve been desperately trying to speed up the process for years now. This lake is somehow the only place that can make me feel like a little kid again.

Six weeks ago, life was simple. So simple in fact, I hate myself for taking a single hour of a normal day for granted. I hate myself for dreading the long walk to class, for saying no to hanging out with friends, choosing to stay in for that night. I hate myself for having ever wished life could just stop for a moment.