The ambiguity of identity

A professor of mine once posed a handful of questions, "If anyone REALLY knew you, would they want to be around and/or with you?" , "How much of your outward self do you make up or pretend, just for the sake of avoiding judgment?" , "Are you brave enough to be vocal about who you REALLY are, quirks and faults included?"

As a woman in my 20s, I take this as a challenge. If your college years and those that immediately follow are all about finding and/or creating yourself, then my goal is to be honest in the process.

So here we go.

Hello, I am Andrea and I am just as lost as you are, but I'm trying to create my definition.
I am a 22 year old college student with a passion for words and all the mystery that follows them.
I am a journalism school drop-out. Sometimes I think it was because I wasn't good enough and other times I think it was because I didn't conform enough.
I have severely disliked my bustline since I was 10. I just want to see my feet again.
I claim I have a distaste for people who try to hard to fit in, but I find that I often fall in that category too.
I don't like Walt Whitman or Emily Dickinson. His language is perverse and obscure. I wish when Ms. Dickinson's house burnt down that her poetry went with it.
I have a fear that I push people away by trying to pull them too close.
I struggle with self-esteem, as most females do. There are days I wake up, where it's a battle just to get out of bed.
I am a bank teller, it pays the bills but I can't wait to get a job I have a passion for.
I talk all the time about wanting to move to the West Coast and survive solely on sunshine and the Pacific Ocean, but the truth is I am petrified to move away from my family.
I sometimes regret moving away from St. Louis. I feel like I am missing so many moments with my family.
I say I am independent and strong, but I rely on a few certain people for more than I like to admit.
When at work, I clean underneath my nails with paperclips.
I always catch myself counting the number of steps it takes to get from point A to point B while on campus.
Sometimes when I'm feeling really down, I go to the pantry and sneak smells from Joseph's peanut butter jar just to feel my heart flutter with panic.
I forgive people almost to a fault but have the hardest time forgiving myself.
I have a bridal book and a list full of wedding ideas hidden in my underwear drawer just in case the occasion should ever arise.
I am a woman that desires to be touched.
I have a daddy complex.
I know my limits but tend to surpass them from time to time.
I am a loving supporter of gay rights.
I am entirely nostalgic.
I look for song lyrics to describe what my vocabulary cannot.
I can get heartburn from anything, including but not limited to water, tomatoes, pickles, and lemon flavoring.
I see nothing wrong with living with someone before you're married, but still I slip a ring on my wedding finger when I go to pick up birth control.
I drink from the milk carton.
I feel like I need photos to document parts of my life for fear I will forget them.
I am a woman.
I am Andrea, I am 22 and my ambiguous identity is endless.