She wants to stay true to herself, but it's really, really difficult.
She used to bounce around like the epitome of light. She renounced light and opted for darkness. She spent the rest of the time struggling to stay in the middle, to stay afloat, telling everyone that her style changed with her taste in music, trying to convince herself that her teenage life was normal and her lack of equilibrium with her personality was to be expected of a girl her age.
It goes on and on and on.
She doesn't feel like her clothes or hair or whatever should define her, but it's too late for soft-spoken and integrity and let me be myself. When she does take the time to be honest, she remembers how she despises that all-encompassing quiet, because let's face it, folks: your proverbial wisdom won't move mountains, expiating hardly gets you anywhere these days, and when that stillness forces you to shut down and think, there isn't a person in the world who doesn't want to run away.
She wanted to renew and reinvent herself (she never used to believe that was possible; it always seemed pretty ridiculous and eye-roll worthy), so she nestled into a Belgian "vacation" (getting Visas sucked) quite nicely, and…well, it was rather stupid, but she bought new perfume so as not to carry the scent of her old self, cut off half of her hair, refused to speak English for a month (Finnish was almost as excruciating as trying to scrounge up a Visa, but she knew enough French to get around), and scouted out guys. Call her every name in the book, but her foremost resentment was that the last guy she'd, er, been with was someone she left in the dust (again), someone she didn't want to dwell on. And thus began the hunt for the next man in her life - even if he were only present for a night or two; anything to "reinvent" herself.
She wandered the streets, worked at a patisserie, sang at every open-mic night she could find. She practically jumped for joy when some burly man at a nightclub handed her a business card, only to discover about a fortnight later that he was a fraud. Everyday is :the day", everyone is "the one", every time is "the time". Why can't life just toss her some goodness? She was always told never to lose her childhood quality of dreaming, of believing in the impossible, of going and getting exactly what you want. Why was the entire world so against her accomplishing anything?
In all honesty, she feels lost. Seemingly an act that would be out of character, she never skipped through the streets or strolled through the meadows. Once adventurous, she had grown quite self-reserved, fearing that her days of ultimate determination were long gone.
The moment she hit New York City, she yearned for the brisk air of her previously rustic surroundings. She wants to feel powerful, unstoppable, beautiful, but all she feels is unsure. Should she go home, wherever that was? Head back across the pond? Stay put? She concluded that she was the brand new apotheosis of confusion.
She knows she's only paranoid, but she wonders why she can never seem to feel content with herself, with her life. Part of her blames it on traveling, another part accuses losing touch with friends, and yet another decides her depression resulted from a general loss of love. But she knows the truth. Something's always missing. Will she just have to accept that?
She was fairly certain that she was over the whole pubescent "not knowing who she is" thing.
She wants to stay true to herself, but it's really, really difficult.
A/N: This was just ONE take on Ashley's life post-Season 7. Probably not that likely, but I imagine she may experience a period of this huge doubt if nothing happened with her career and she didn't really know anyone in Europe.
I'm debating on whether or not I should delete my fic 'What She Told Herself'. Thoughts?
I may add another chapter to this…