*This is a complete work of fiction and any relation to another story or real life is purely coincidental.*
I just want you to know who I am.
Because all these years we have talked about many things and laughed many times, but never spoken about anything that truly mattered. We discussed what went on at home, what went on at school, but never what went on with me, in my head. So I put on this mask. I can’t pin point exactly when it started, when everything you said started mattering so much to my character, but over time I started tucking in all the things that would be too personal, that might weird you out, because I wanted to be a perfect friend. So you started to think of me as some sort of angel; a divine being. I wanted to open up. I tried to do so many times, but the longer I delayed the more impossible it became. So you never got to find out who I really was.
And I’m taking the opportunity to tell you now.
Do you remember when we met, in the sixth grade? You asked me for my granola bar during lunch. I didn’t want to give it up so we made a deal to split it in half. I, being the selfish girl I am, split it so I got three fourths of the snack and you only got a little bit. As one could expect, you got upset when I did this and told me not to do it again because it was mean and no one likes a mean girl. So I stopped. From that point on, if I shared something, I made sure to give the other person a fair amount. But this did not mean that I was not selfish, no. It meant I was being selfish somewhere else, supressing it with you but releasing it with another. Like my little sister.
It began with little things, like not allowing her to wear my clothes without asking or getting angry when she borrowed my jewelry. But it evolved into not allowing her to even speak unless I had nothing to say. I would talk and talk about nonsense, prancing around in a skirt I forced her to let me try on, and not allow her to speak at all. Over time, I created this quiet little girl who never spoke up about anything.
She was a monster of sorts.
And what about the time in eighth grade, when I told you how I hated that girl Marissa? Marissa Shultz. I still think of her sometimes in my worst moments, looking for someone to blame. You told me that I shouldn’t hate anyone; I should find something good in everyone I meet. And so I stopped hating people, or at least I tried. I would tell you good things about all your friends, about you, about Marissa. I tried so hard to be kind and love. But we can’t go through our lives hating no one, now can we? We always need someone to blame for our problems. So I started hating myself. I started looking in the mirror and picking out everything that was wrong with my body. Every time I talked to someone, I would think about the words I said and everything that was wrong with them. I would hate myself every time I thought badly of another person, every time I didn’t think I looked pretty enough, every time I failed something. I hated everything about the personality that possessed my troubled soul. I didn’t hate those around me, though, because in my mind, they did nothing wrong. Everything was my fault.
And the most aggravating part is you never knew this. You never knew I had such distaste towards every action I took because I only showed you the good, what you wanted me to be.
By our sophomore year of hi
