To Be Like Me

03

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to look from a bird's eye point of view.

Would everything still seem so large in my head?

The boy that knelt down in front of me, whom I soon learned to be known as Cameron, looked me in the eyes when he spoke to me. I wasn't used to this, for everyone seemed to look at me like a wounded animal.

"You don't have to tell me what's wrong, but it might help," he responded. He ran a hand through his brown curls, a small smile on his face. I felt uncomfortable, if I were being completely honest. But I also didn't want him to go.

"It's just... it's my head," I said quietly. He gave me a knowing look, and I felt my heart become a little lighter.

I was expecting him to gape at me, raise his eyebrows, then get up and walk away.

"I know how that goes," he replied, "your head can tell you somethings that you don't want to hear. And it's not easy to ignore them. Trust me, I know. But those thoughts are exactly that- thoughts. Nothing more, nothing less. It's your choice on whether or not you let them control you."

I blinked, almost shocked by what I heard. He gave advice so fluently, it was like a second language. I was so used to a shrug and a head bob that I was speechless.

"I... thank you," I responded with lamely, still slightly unsure of how to respond.

"You're welcome," he smiled warmly, then stood back up.

"See you around, no name," he said lastly, then turned around, and walked away.

* * *

Cameron didn't really come to mind for the rest of the day.

The kind gesture didn't go unnoticed, though. It was probably the kindest someone has ever been to me.

They sent me to guidance for the rest of the day, where they locked me in an old practice room. They left on a movie, some old cartoon movie that had been played one too many times, for the scenes kept skipping.

I pulled out my phone, and opened text messaging. My mom had sent me a couple messages about the school, asking what happened and why they called her phone. I clicked off my phone, not having the energy to hold a conversation with her. I loved my mom, but her obsessiveness only made my anxiety spike.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," I said, half heartedly.

Mrs. Flowers, the secretary, came in and took a seat next to me.

Mrs. Flowers is friends with my mom, so she's known me since I was a child. I didn't really acknowledge her at school, but we were pretty close out of school.

"What's wrong?" She asked, her voice laced with concern.

I shrugged, and plastered a smile on my face.

"I failed a test. I'm just stressed," I lied, hoping she wouldn't ask any further questions.

Luckily enough, she just gave me a reassuring shoulder rub.

As she left, I had a hard time fighting back the tears.

"I just wish this all would end," I whispered to myself, as I buried my face in my hands.