Note: if you do not enjoy people complaining, especially for long periods of time, then this piece is not for you. Please feel free to skip to the next page, because there are some very nice articles about no shave November.

Why do people expect so much of us? By “us”, I mean teenagers. There’s a ridiculous amount of pressure placed on us, and I’m not just talking about New Trier. I mean in general. Seriously, I’m seventeen; why do people seem to think I’ve got everything figured out. I can barely control most of my body, yet somehow people expect me to know what I want to do with the rest of my life. I’m supposed to have found my passion by now, something that I can go to school for and then get a job related to. However, the simple fact is that I’m absolutely clueless. I can’t choose a college based on what I want to do, so I have to choose one based on what I expect to hate the least.

And that’s not all. Somehow, people expect us to be good people. I’m not a good person. I’m working on it, and I certainly think I’m a better person than I was last year, but overall, I’m still pretty awful. I’m not saying I’m some kind of murdering psycho. I’m just saying that I’m really bad at doing what’s best for me and for other people. Want to know why? It’s because I’m SEVENTEEN! I’m a hormonal, emotional powder keg. I spend ninety percent of my day either sad or angry for no discernible reason, and I’m including sleep in that percentage. It doesn’t help that I’m surrounded by hundreds of people going through the exact same emotional temple of doom. And somehow, among this mass of sad, angry people, I’m supposed to find others who validate my right to exist, AKA friends. Don’t get me wrong, I love my friends, but having them can be so stressful sometimes that it makes me feel like I’m going to explode.

And that’s the worst part. There are so many things that I enjoy. I really enjoy writing, especially for the newspaper, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’m feeling extremely stressed as I type this sentence. I’m typing so hard right now that the people in the library are giving me weird looks. We’ve got so much pressure on us that even the things we love begin to stress us out, because there’s so little time in the day and we’re expected to do so much. Hobbies, school, figuring out what we want to be when we grow up, it’s all too much sometimes.

So don’t ask me which college I’m going to. Don’t ask me what I plan to major in. Don’t even ask me what I’m planning to do at all. Just let me handle my own business.