What would you do if you had a secret so bad that you were ashamed to tell anyone in the entire world about it? What would you do if you felt that whoever you told would look at you in disgust
because of this secret, that they would treat you like something less than human? What if you were so afraid of this secret that it ruled your life, decided what you did, who you spoke to, what you
said? What if this secret killed you, every day, every moment, killed you bit by bit until you didn’t recognize the person who looked at you in the mirror? What would you do?
Everyday she made sure to cover her arms, legs, and anywhere else that was marked in the dark purple bruises. Some of them were already yellowing and she could get away with them. Some others though covered her entire shoulder, crawled on her skin like a poisoned hand trying to rip into her flesh.
She would wear black eyeliner and black mascara, carefully applying it everyday. She had nice skin and blue eyes that jumped out at you so she had no real need to wear make-up. But she wore it just the same, that way if anyone was suspicious about the darkening marks under her eyes they would simply think she forgot to wash her make up off at the end of the day. So no one would know how much sleep she was missing.
Her hair, long and black, hung down to her shoulder blades and was never held back, her ears and neck were always surrounded. She never chose to be labeled as a Goth, that was just what the kids in school had started calling her since she started wearing black. Black blended in, she could survive wearing black. She puked when she had to wear colors, they always reminded her of the hell she went through.
This was how she made sure she looked when she left the house in the morning for school, how she looked when she went to work every Wednesday, Thursday and Saturday. Quiet and withdrawn, blending in with the crowd. ‘Don’t notice me’ should have been worn around her neck.
And just like the careful application of her security appearance, she looked in the mirror with mixed feelings every single day. Every single damned day she would wonder if it was a blessing or a curse that she survived as long as she had.
She used to be a cheerleader, she used to have blonde hair and would smile when she walked through the halls. She used to date the head of the football team, used to be one of the most popular girls in school. She used to get straight A’s in all her classes, used to help with any students who were behind. Used to do extra credit whenever she found the time. She used to help with the new additions to the cheer squad, used to give extra training and support to the one’s who needed it.
She used to be a role model, someone everyone wanted to be and wanted to be with. Used to be.
As in, not anymore.
Now she was a nobody, she didn’t stand out and she didn’t make any effort to. People rarely noticed her unless to give her a pity glance and think of how she used to be.
This is her daily life at school. Walking through the halls not making eye contact with anyone, getting average grades in school, sitting at the back of the class behind everyone else. Eating alone at lunch.
Then she would go home. Four days a week she went straight home after school. Four days a week she went back to hell. Four days a week she was more stressed than usual, disappeared more than usual. Four days a week she hated herself even more. Four days a week.
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