I’ll start this off by saying that there is more to my pencil case than meets the eye. On the outside, it is a black case with a white zipper. No bells or whistles. However, once you open the case, you can expect to see a cluster of colored pens and pencils. The pens alone would cost about twenty dollars. The pencil case would most likely be five or six ounces, the average weight of anything in my backpack. The pencil case is the most important thing in my backpack because it has the tools necessary to help me communicate my knowledge and my feelings. Without it, I am nothing but a husk of body parts and empty thoughts. I lost my pencil case on the first day of school. I bawled my eyes out the entire day. The rest of the week was spent trying to regain the things I once had, the memories I associated with it. But it was impossible. As soon as I got it back, I felt a sense of rejuvenation that is only found once in a blue moon. I rejoiced and laughed while I wrote with the utensils.

I don’t have a choice to carry this backpack. It holds all my school supplies, and because my locker does not open, I must carry it. I was one of the lucky ones, since I don’t have giant binders with tons of notes and papers. It is still a burden I have to endure, especially now. My clear backpack has a gaping hole in it. I tried to put it back together with staples, but it didn’t work. Not only that, but it can poke you and draw blood. The worst part is that I can’t take the time to be careful. As a result, I got pricked in the hand.

The biggest burden I carry is my depression. Sure, I take pills for it, but it never ceases. It’s always there, In the corner of my mind. every day I wake up and I feel miserable. Things that a lot of people find joy in, bother me. I feel like every day is the same, in that whatever I do, I’ll get the same outcome. It surely doesn’t make for a happy existence, that’s for sure. I tried though, since I’ve been doing a lot better than I used to. But, sometimes, I feel like I’m slipping down the same path that I was on when I was 12, not knowing anything about the world around me and not wanting to be there to figure it out.

I hold on to the future without thinking about the present period it’s a common pastime of mine, thinking about what I’ll be like when I’m older. I think about who I’d marry, what job I’d have, where I’d live when I retire, and so on. I’m scared that if I make one wrong choice, then my life will take a completely different path than what I want it to be. I feel like that I’m far too advanced for everyone else in my age group. They party, drink, and enjoy the simple pleasures in life while I work tirelessly on a goal that I don’t know if I will reach.

The world is a cruel and unjust place, and I just can’t find it within myself to sugar coat it.