Moving to Africa. Not having friends. Switching schools. Finding friends. Losing friends. Switching schools. Moving back. Being the weird kid. Divorce. Bad friends. Finding stability.

Stability has wrecked me.

I have always craved change. Ever since fifth grade, when my mom decided to pick up our family and move us halfway across the Earth, I have craved the thrill of confusion and instability. And for years, my unstable life has kept me busy, on my toes and moving. But, now I am stable, and I hate it.

School. Homework. Workout. Friends. Family. Name brands. Expensive clothes. Normal.

But I am not normal. Name brands make me feel ill, being in one place makes me anxious and staying inside writing notes makes me depressed. The identity I have been preoccupied in creating for myself inside these walls is not me. I am not the money that my parents make or the designer clothes that I have asked for for Christmas.

That is not me.

I don’t know where I am, or what I am doing and why I am acting everyday as if it is just any day, and not the adventure my life used to be.

Instability has made me who I am, but I am not that person anymore. That person is merely a distant memory. That was the person who went to villages and hiked mountains in Africa; she would tell anyone that would listen about all of the crazy sights she’d seen. Oh, the stories she would tell, the travels of a foreign land. They were like nothing you’d heard before.

But, that girl is gone now, and she has been replaced with a lethargic shell of a human, simply trying to get through the day.

I can’t say that I know how, but she’ll be back one day, telling about times she spent swinging into rivers with people she had just met. My journey to an unstable life is merely a thought, but one day, it will become my reality.