  Here’s one way to spend your new years night; listening to Kermit the Frog signing ‘The Rainbow Connection’ and drinking can upon can of Diet Coke.
Apparently, the lovers the dreamers and me are not close enough to finding the illusive connection. The quest continues. Sleep continues to evade me. I feel so edgy and soulful milling around wide awake at three in the morning, but come sunrise, when I still can’t sleep, I only feel shitty and frustrated.
I was, at one point, motivated to do something about this problem, but since my parents refuse to let me take medication (citing that it isn’t a “real big” problem and the possibility of addiction) there is little I can do.
I sound so stereotypically off-put when I talk about my parents. I love them with all my heart, but there are some days when I feel like we’re engaged in a bitter war of petty battles (“ Anna Marie, do not move the broom from the broom closet!” “Anna Marie, you can not play that music that loud!” “Anna Marie, your backpack does not belong in the living room!”) They are genuinely concerned about my social life, which is actually worse than having them yell at me. Not matter how hard I persist that I hate big crowds and gatherings, my mother is just not satisfied. I deliberately hang out in smaller groups of people. Hanging out in large groups seems so impersonal.
In those instances when I do, I feel like everyone is fighting over conversation time. Everyone is waiting for their turn to talk. And no one really pays attention to what anyone else says… I hate it. I wonder if being misunderstood comes with the territory when you’re fifteen? Or maybe it’s simply the difference my parents and I have in defining “well-adjusted”. Affectionately… Anna 
