Dear Diary...

I am a shallow person.

Did you know that? Neither did I.

I am seriously shallow; "Not exhibiting, requiring, or capable of serious thought". There are so many things I decided about my life that are exactly that....not requiring serious thought.

I really thought I knew who I was. I also thought I liked who I was.

But now, here, nearly 400 miles away from every surrounding wall I'd built in my head, I'm stripped down and bare for examination. The verdict isn't good.

I was someone who absorbed what was in the immediate area and molded their character to that situation. It worked for me.

It always had.

On those cutesy little surveys people do on blogs and social network sites it asks, "What color crayon would you be?" I've always thought of myself as that crayon that got broken, the paper wrapping ripped or simply slipped off and all the other crayons marked and dented up, till it looked like a melted scrap of multi-colored wax. i didn't think anything was necessarily wrong with that, either. I liked it just fine.

I was a "one size fits all" person.

For a long time.

And I'm here to tell you that it's extremely tiring. A tired you don't feel in your muscles, your bones or your head. A tired that becomes you, you are tired. Tired is living.

It's no way to live.

So now, I'm reviewing some very basic character traits and realizing how insufferably shallow I've gotten. How fake I've allowed myself to become; no, forced myself to become.

I'm going to be very honest with all you out there who read these words. It's not brave for me to put this out there, it's petty and silly. I should just reform myself and work it out on my own. But I can't find my journal and I know I'll want these thoughts for later.

I sincerely miss all of 3 people. Three. None of them are related to me. I have 506 facebook friends. I move away for 5 months and I miss 3 people.

My mom calls and I have nothing to say to her. It's like I'm talking to that neighbor lady your mom made you walk down the street and drink lemonade with because she gets lonely. There is a silence in my head when she asks how I'm doing.

It will seem bizarre to you, but I'm shallow about piano. I've told Mark I can't stand electric pianos. I don't like how they sound, I don't like how they feel, how they play; I don't like them. And at this moment I would give anything for one in my lap. I couldn't bring myself to use an inferior form of instrument because it dampened my 'talent'. I cannot tell you how ugly I feel inside saying those words. That I care so much about appearing 'talented'.

I am so very unsure about marriage. I'm so unsure it's terrifying. Sometimes, it feels like the only reason I want to marry Mark is to ensure that I'm the one making him happy. Which doesn't sound all that wrong, but it could be. And it's the 'could' that jabs a hole in my happy bucket of positive.

I've never been more alone in my life out here, living in an apartment with 4 other girls. 3 vegetarian/vegans, 1 lesbian, 1 black...my room is full of potentially dangerous PC situations and I have no basis of opinion to anchor myself upon. I don't know how I feel on all these...these social terms. I don't even know what to call them.

I know what my dad thinks of them, what some outspoken opinionated friends think, I know what my religion says about things but all I feel is apathy.

And I'm not just talking about my roommates. That's just an example of the mess my life is in. I'm trying to put the puzzle together while the pieces whoosh down the drain into the running garbage disposal. I can't catch up.

And I'm shallow.

Ashamed of it, and wishing I was different.

Wishing I was memorable.

Wishing I had qualities that weren't peeled off of someone else and haphazardly slapped on my arm like bumper stickers.

I'm 20 years, 8 months and 7 days old; I don't want to be finding myself now.

I'm naive, ignorant and silly.