In which I confess to being an odd adolescent...

I remember, very clearly, an incident that took place at a clothing store back when I was 12. I had picked out an oversized army-green T-shirt with the word 'REBELLION' printed in large bold letters on the front, when mum said something that would haunt me every day since: "But you're not rebellious!"

She was right. But I really wanted to be. There was no scope for rebellion, with liberal parents and a liberal school. There wasn't even any point to rebellion. 

"You're not rebellious!"

Aged 15, I would burn things in secret, pretending to be a pyromaniac. An abused child. Like the kid from The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things. I was kidding myself, and I knew it. I wanted to rebel. Against myself, if no one else.

"You're not rebellious!"

I pretended to be depressed, damaged. Like the guy from The Wall. I was far from it.

"You're not rebellious!"

In trying to become a rebel, I hurt myself. But isn't that the point of teenage rebellion? We can't allow ourselves to be happy. Nope. Never. That would be playing it safe. If we're unhappy, we can yearn for happiness. Happiness achieved somehow by becoming more and more unhappy. Catch 22. The less happy we become, the happier we think we will become. Which can obviously never happen.