This Thing Upon Me [Order The eBook] [Harry Styles]

Chapter 25

(DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. It's important to remember this is all totally fabricated, embellished, and exaggerated for entertainment purposes.)

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"Lights up and they know who you are. Do you know who you are?"

Harry | Lights Up

The hardest part of this was being Harry Styles. The world thought they knew me. In their eyes, I was a singer. A charmer. A gentleman. Sometimes a womanizer. Sometimes a fashion connoisseur. Apparently, I was lots of girls' (and guys') fantasy. I struggled with these identities coming up in the spotlight, not knowing which to adopt or if I should adopt any at all. Simply put, I didn't know what to be. I was a stranger to myself the majority of my adult life.

When I was younger my mother encouraged me to be myself, whatever that might entail, and assured me that I had her undying support in any regard. She also trusted me enough to know I wouldn't try to be something she would disapprove of in any case, so that was an added comfort. My dad on the other hand encouraged me to work hard at whatever I did, and to maintain my authenticity at all costs, even if it was my career that ended up on the line. He also encouraged me to always be the hardest working person in any room (to never let anyone outwork me), and this was ultimately the key to success in any field.

They tried to make me good at a lot of things early on, like piano, cooking, and football, and these things all defined me for most of my teen years until the band came along. But I don't think either of them anticipated exactly what I would become after seeing me through the craze of the X-factor days. At 16, my mom was reluctant to part with me, but aware that I was on the road to something promising. She might've sensed untold things in my future—mother's intuition and all—but I don't think even she was prepared for what came. I often think that if it weren't for her being exactly as good as she was, my off-handed comment about how the X-Factor looked fun would've died in vain the moment it left my mouth. I'd probably still be a member of a lousy garage band, working in a bakery, and studying at university. The epitome of mediocrity.

It's because of her exact goodness that I had the courage to sing in White Eskimo at all. And it was because of her exact goodness that she happened to zone in on my flippant comment about the show and signed me up. And it was because of her exact brand of goodness that I ultimately am Harry Edward Styles, from inception to present day.

On February 1, 1994, Harry Styles number one was born. Then the day she signed me up for X-Factor and stood with me in impossibly long lines (hunger pangs and all) until my name was called, Harry Styles number two was born. This was the Harry the world knew and who had evolved before their very eyes. From cheeky dimpled cherub, to professional singer, to charmer, to womanizer—and the labels kept coming.

Problem was, no one knew about Harry Styles number three. He had been born in secret the moment Zayn and I became one, and I had no idea what to do with him now. He was like a ghost, a rumor, a shadow. Commandeering, but incorporeal. Hard to get a hold of. In truth he was nothing because no one knew he existed. Not even Zayn himself. And it was because of Harry Styles number two (singer, charmer, womanizer) that Harry Styles number three couldn't lift his head above water to breathe.

Harry number three was sensitive, fragile, clingy, anxious, self-conscious, afraid, and lost. He was all the things that Harry number two wouldn't allow me to be in the face of the public—couldn't afford for me to be. So number two grabbed the real me (number three) by the shoulders and often shoved me so far under the surface of reality that I drowned and relinquished the reins to him completely.