Me

Me.

I hate being me.

Everyday of my life.

Why?

Too many reasons, too many excuses.

I can't remember the last time I woke up not hating myself. Why, you question, why do you hate yourself?

You're lucky to be alive.

I know. But on most days, it just doesn't feel that way. It feels like...I don't know, honestly. It feels bad. It feels horrible being me.

Looking in the mirror the other day, my fingers reached for a lock of hair that strayed down my shoulder. And I wondered if it was too short. I wondered if it was too untidy. I wondered if it was too...ugly. My fingertips then touched my cheek slightly. Too chubby, I said to myself. Too haggard, too sallow, too ugly. Taking a step further away from my own reflection, I looked at the girl staring back at me. Me.

Who is she?

I don't know. She stares back at me, unsmiling, unhappy. She was a stranger in my eyes. She was a stranger in my heart, alien to my mind. She was soulless, she was afraid, she was lost. Who is she?

I looked beyond the face, and I looked past the hair. I searched deep within myself, and I realized I couldn't find her anymore. A desperate sob escaped my lips, and I knew then that it's not her that I couldn't find. It's me.

Where is she?

I don't know. Where did she go? Where did I go?

I dug deeper. And deeper. And there she is.

She's afraid, she's lonely, she's tired and she's lost. I saw her crouched within herself, hidden by the shadows of the wall built of pain and tears. She looks up at me. She stares hollowly.

I'm not beautiful. I'm not smart. I'm not perfect. I don't love me.

Then I saw a tear trickle down her cheek, slowly. Somewhere inside, it feels strangely empty. The cavity where my heart belonged began to ache. I knew it was bleeding from a cut. The one swift cut that tore it out.

I don't love me. Do you?

No, I said. No, I don't love you anymore. You're different.

And then she began to cry. I wanted to tell her that everything will be alright at the very end. I wanted her to know that I can't love her like this. I wanted to make the pain go away.

But still she looked back at me, tears glistening in her eyes. It wasn't her that I knew anymore. And it wasn't her that I loved.

I stared back at her.

Tomorrow, I shall wear a mask. I shall wear my plastic smile. I will not let her feel hurt again. I will not let the world see her like this.

I will not be me.