Hi. My name is Amanda and I have the mentality and emotional range of a teenager.

Summer. Bloody. Fucking. Summer.
The word alone stirs up mixed emotions.

'Tis turning more and more into a curse rather than a blessing with each passing day.

Oh fucking summer. Glorious summer, You herald promises of sunshine and fun. It means going home. Back to my family, back to my homeland. Back to a place with food! Such glorious food!

Malaysia.

I've escaped your grasp. Fled far away from your gnarly talons. Absence casts a softening glow to my memories of you.

But where the glow doesn't reach are dark recesses. Oh so many dark recesses that I've forgotten. But my past is always there. Ready to pounce forth at any moment. 

I've forgotten about the emotional baggage. The issues and the darkness. But they never forget about me. Always watching, prepared to be dredged up when I least expect it. They exhilarate at the thought of catching me unawares, when I am most vulnerable.

No matter how much I think I've grown; or how far I think I've come, the thought of going back brings the old me straight back. Up front and center, in the spotlight.

My insecurities never went away. My problems were never resolved.

The mere thought of these alone are enough to reduce me to the swearing, dark and twisty teenage Amanda. The one who blasts Avril Lavigne circa early/mid 2000 to drown out the world.

Congratu-fucking-lations. I'm still as pathetic and broken as you've beat me into. I guess some things just never change huh.

No I’m not fucking fine. Nothings “fine” with me. There’s no such thing as fine. Fine is fucking overrated. It is a state of being that I cannot find. Or even if I do find it, it fucking lasts for a very brief period, and I’m back to my fucked up self.

Why can’t you fucking leave me alone? Is my being content such a horrifying thought to you that each time I think I’ve moved to a better state of being, you have to just muck everything up. You dredge up old issues and make me resort back into the fucking messed up teenager that I was. That I apparently still am.

.... And you just can’t accept that, can you? Well fuck you. Take your fucking two cents and shove it up your fucking ass.

.... Yes, my mother will protect me from the worst of it, and she’ll do her best to accommodate me, but I know that she’s getting the crap end from the others so how can I in good conscience put her in that tough spot?

.... Let me warn you. I’m fucking childish. I’ve done so many things that I normally wouldn’t do just to spite some people and tell them to stick it. Keep harping on me and I will fucking turn off my rational side and go on a fucking spree like the selfish little brat that you’ve apparently caricatured me into. 

All the other fuckers my age can go out whenever the fuck they want, at whatever fucking time they want. If my parents don’t give me a strict curfew, who the fuck are you to enforce one? No one fucking asked you to meddle on behalf of my parents. Fuck all you fuckers.

Sod off fuckers, and stick it.