Change: "The act or instance of making or becoming different."
Change can be a gradual thing, for instance, aging. Change can be something that occurs within months, like moving into a new home. Change can happen the hour it takes for a natural disaster to
occur, the minute it takes for a car to skid across the road and collide with a pole, the second someone stops breathing. Change is innevitable but there are two types of people: Those who carry
change as a burden, always worrying about what could happen to them. And then there's those who embrace change, and move with it, allowing great things to happen.
However, this isn't a happy story about a girl who took risks and lived by the expression 'you only live once'. In fact, this is quite the opposite. If I were to be lumped into one of those
categories, I'd probably be put in the first... The one who is fearful of change. This is what I tell my therapist, but all I ever get out of her is a few nods and 'mmm's. She says I have
Dysthymia, a type of chronic depression. I find it absolutely crazy that doctors have to associate sadness with mental illnesses. Why should I be labelled for being sad? Everyone's sad at some
point in their life so what makes me any different to the other six billion people in the world searching for something worth living for; a job, love, money?
Well, in case you're wondering, I did get what I was searching for. I just didn't know I was looking for it until later in life. There was a time before all this though, when I was young and naive
and happy... well, content at least.
"Cassie, are you awake?"
I am now, I think to myself, as I place the pillow over my face, in a desperate attempt to fall back into a deep sleep. I know it's useless though, because within seconds my mother is
charging up the stairs, two by two, and yanking the blanket off me. I reluctantly sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed and push my feet into my slippers. Believe it or not, this is a good
day. She didn't even resort to jumping on my bed or shaking me to life. I guess I must have gotten more sleep last night than I usually do. I shuffle into the bathroom, afraid to look up at the
horrible person staring back at me in the mirror. Sure enough, there she is, including enormous under-eye bags, a washed out complexion and all! Thirty minutes later, my face and hair are in a good
enough state to be seen in public, and I'm physically, not mentally, ready for my first day of grade twelve.
One more year and I'll be out of here. You can do it Cassie.
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