I have a secret. I can’t tell anyone. It’s not like I murdered someone, I didn’t do drugs, it’s something I’d need a paragraph to explain but I’m choosing to not give the world that, not even anonymously. It started in fifth grade, it was something I did ultra secretively, and I’d spend at least an hour on it everyday, every night. I was obsessed, I couldn’t let myself stop, because I’d be a terrible person if I did, but I knew it was terrible for me, for my grades. Then, in sixth grade, I kinda… realized it wasn’t something I should be doing. I tried to get back into it, I had spent an entire year telling myself my life was worth less than everyone else’s, because duh trolley problem. But I couldn’t, and then I got a boyfriend, and it became harder to go back because I loved him and if I loved him then I couldn’t leave. I think this story is vague, maybe people will think it’s fake, I don’t blame anyone. I just wanted to get this out. It’s a whole year later, bye to that chapter.