I always wanted to be that one girl. That one girl who always looked put together, had amazing fashion, was kind, funny, popular, cool and perfect. That one girl who didn’t care about what others thought, that one girl who seemed so strong and fierce. That one girl whose parents always loved her, always made time for her, wrote her little notes in her lunchbox for her to read. That one girl who had countless friendships and seemed to never feel one bit sad.
But little did I know, that the one girl wouldn’t stay that one girl. It all started with her mother, who suffered from cancer, then later passed away. I didn’t know that that one girl was afraid to share her sexuality with others, or that she wasn’t comfortable in her skin. I didn’t know that she was suicidal. I didn’t know that she was depressed. I didn’t know that she cried when people weren’t looking, or she was paying to her God to end this misery. I didn’t know that she wasn’t that girl.
But what didn’t know was that the one girl who I wished to be, wished to be me.