subjective pics of misled youth

Nice face I'm making there.
Nice face I'm making there.

Did I have fun, back then? I think I did from time to time, although I was consumed with trying to establish who I truly was. I did stupid things, things that I’m lucky to have lived through. I spent too much time in dirty alleys, decrepit houses, squats… I was reckless because that’s when I felt most alive. I didn’t know then what I know now about me [and the world] – I knew I was depressed, but not to the extent. I spent weeks lying in a room, listening to Bauhaus over and over, before I started getting really reckless, taking ridiculous risks… what finally got me up and moving was the challenge to find ways to kickstart life into an “exciting” place.

Sometimes I feel a million years’ worth of distance between the girl that I was, and the woman that I am now. I can look at the photos and see the me that was, but it’s as if I’m looking through a curtain of fog. Then again, there are so many nights that I can’t remember from that time, that it’s hardly surprising that I feel that way!

People who didn’t know me then usually can’t believe that the stories that I tell have anything to do with the me that they know now. People who knew me then often express surprise that I’m where I am. Xiane the enigma, whoop-dee-doo.

I have no idea what I’m trying to say here. I’ve just been lost in thought after stumbling on the above photo in my photos folder. It is always insightful for me to think about how far I’ve come.

I write, as openly as possible, about my experiences with life, love, creativity, depression and not-depression. I share opinions. I promote compassion and change. I talk about music. I also write poetry and short stories. I like to share them here.

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