She’s the girl that you almost never see cry. One glance in her direction and she already has a smile on her face. It’s always there reassuring you that she is no one to worry about. You believe it. Every single day.
You believe that she’s fine, because that’s her game. If she ever crosses your mind, your only thoughts will be that she has it all figured out. You’ll maybe crack a joke or two. She might even laugh.
What you’re missing though, are the thoughts inside of her head:
I’m laughing because if I don’t the tears will pour down my cheeks. I can’t cry. Not here. Not in front of people. Not in front of you. Because I’m the girl you never see cry.
I’m supposed to be the strong one. For my sisters. For my brothers. For my friends. For all of the people who have it so much worse than I could ever imagine. And I will keep joking around with you and everyone else, because everything you say is hilarious. Until I’m alone.
My anxiety quickly creeps in and all of the day’s words hurt. The jokes about my weight, how exhausted I look, how ugly my nails are, how crooked my teeth are, how bad my last grade was, how wrinkly my shirt is, how old my backpack looks, how messy my hair is, how lame my shoes are, how annoying my laugh it, how stupid my friends are…it all catches up to me. It’s funny…until its not.
I may spend the next weeks starving. Working out. Studying all hours of the night. Spending money on new clothes and accessories – but why? I act like I don’t care, but the truth is, I care way too much. But you’re oblivious to the internal war I’m fighting.
I just wish for a single day that I didn’t hate my own reflection. You don’t know what I’ve gone through. You don’t know the people that have hurt me. The people that have abused me. The people that have sucked the life right out of me. You don’t know the places I’ve been. You don’t know the wounds I’ve had.
I don’t have much left in me. But…what I do have is being “strong” around people. Being the person that others can come to with their problems and sadness and heartache. I’m weaker than you know though. I’m more fragile than you can imagine. My heart has a few too many cracks. I am breakable.
And maybe the point of all this is that everyone is fighting a battle that you nothing about. Sometimes the fake smiles are incredibly convincing. But all the more reason to be the light that others need to get through the day instead of the reason they want to end it all. You don’t know their battle. So be kind, always.