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Cristina Crescenzo (she/her/hers), Low Entropy Volunteer Writer

I think it’s easier for me to admit that I miss others who have left my life in one way or another than to admit I miss the person I used to be. I don’t think we talk about that enough, missing ourselves. It is true that every day we become someone new, little by little, someone unrecognizable from yesterday. However, and I am sure I am not the only one who has felt this way, I can sometimes become disillusioned with the person I have become. It is hard for me to decipher whether it is for the good or for the bad. I just can’t help but miss my younger self, or I suppose I miss the girl other people told me I was, the happy girl, a girl naïve to all the world’s problems, including her own. 

I have to say it’s a very discombobulating experience, missing your old self, compared to someone who used to be in your life, because it’s not like they are really gone, you just can’t access them. I am not saying who I was before was perfect, because there is no such thing. Still, I miss being able to speak freely, without judgment, making jokes without having to assassinate my character for a laugh, and not caring what people think about what I wear or how overbearing my personality can be. I yearn for the days when comparison didn’t steal away my joy and how being an individual didn’t make others see you as something artificial. I long for the ease of being around big groups of people, because now, even being alone can feel suffocating. 

Peter Pan was a boy who never wanted to grow up, and now, after 24 years on this earth, I finally understand his reluctance. Adulthood is not at all what it is cracked up to be, because instead of going trick or treating and believing in Santa Claus, we all start to become pessimists . . . well, at least in my case. I always knew that life would become more challenging with each rotation of the sun, but I never thought it would be this hard. Monsters may not live under our beds, but some are intangible and can live in our heads. I also find that, nowadays, there is a low supply of hope, so I look back at my younger days and wonder why I was in such a rush to grow up? I was convinced the best was yet to come, but I can’t help but feel that maybe that time has already passed. Ignorance is truly bliss; the problem is you can’t go back, and Neverland doesn’t exist. I feel so stuck that I can’t help but think that my past self would run away screaming if I could tell her about our life now. Peter Pan didn’t want to grow up and neither do I. 

Despite what I have typed so far, I am not entirely without hope that I will come to accept this new version of myself, and when this one leaves, I will learn to adapt to that one, too. It may seem like an unnatural grief, but grieving yourself is valid, and I think it’s something we all have had to contend with at one time in the deepest part of our hearts. So I do miss the girl I was, and I want her to return, but I don’t think she’s supposed to because that’s not how life works. It will remain forever changing.

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I am just a 24-year-old finishing her English bachelor’s degree at Simon Fraser University who loves to read and write in order to help someone in some small way. I will also always advocate for mental health and disabled causes through the written word, and Low Entropy lets me do just that.