I hate birthdays. I really do. Not only because the anticipation leading up to them is always set up to be a huge let down, but I just don't see the point in celebrating the fact that you are a year closer to death than you were 364 days ago. The only thing remotely fun about the day is eating mountains of cake, which will inevitably lead to nausea and a bad conscience, two things I would happily avoid. 

Which is why, in my rebellious adolescent state, I have decided to stop celebrating my birthday. Not in the peter pan I-don't-grow-older-and-will-never-go-through-puberty sense. Just accept the fact that the 23d of June is just any other day, and that there is absolutely no point in celebrating. How depressing, I know. But what can I say? I'm sixteen, isn't that the point of being sixteen, to be juvenile? To wine and moan and over-dramatize everything? Fucking teenage-hood. Do I even need to get into that? It's not only the lack of independence that makes me loath being a teenager, but also the fact that everyone around me is significantly less mature, and the fact that every other teenager believes exactly the same thing. We all love to believe that we are intellectually and emotionally superior to our peers, when the fact is that none of us actually have a clue what the fuck we're on about, because our heads are shoved so far up our asses. Excuse my French. We're all fantastically shallow and narcissistic. We all believe that we're special and different, but at fifteen that is unfortunately not the case. The fact is we don’t actually know enough to be different. Or maybe that just me being cynical. Okay, so maybe that was a bit over the top, but admit it. Once or twice you've lay in bed, thinking that you’re some kind of soldier of rebellion, and that no one really gets you, and that no one really knows the real you. Well you’re wrong. Shit happens. To everyone. You’re not the only misunderstood person in the world. You’re not the only person with dreams and ambitions, who'se gone through something painful or traumatizing. It happens to everyone.

So, I revoke what I wrote earlier. You can be special and you can be different, but your pain is not what makes you different. In fact you’re feelings aren’t what make you different. Need I state the obvious, that everyone has the same set of feelings. 

It's pointless asking me what makes you you, because I probably don't know you, and I’m not very insightful. Maybe, working out what sets you apart from everyone else is life's great mission, which only proves my point, that at fifteen, you just don't know. I certainly don't. Another thing I don't know is how this text spiraled into some kind of cynical rant about teenagers. Which is why i won't bore your any longer, and consider investing in a diary.