It was hard.
Actually, it was a struggle.
A constant, painful, difficult struggle.
I felt like my body wasn’t mine. I walked and I talked, I hung out with my
friends and had fun, but I didn’t really want to.
But I did it.
And I kept doing it, every day I got up, plastered a smile on my face and I
went to school. I joked around with my friends, I laughed and I messed
around, I had fun. But at the end of the day it was all hollow. It was all an act.
I would do all of this, honestly have an amazing day, then I’d go home, and I’d
go to my room, and the smile would just melt off of my face.
I wasn’t in control. The smile would come of its own accord, I’d laugh, and I’d
joke, and I’d have a blast, even when I didn’t want to. Or maybe I did want to.
I’ll never know. I’m not in control, I don’t lead my own life, I never will.
But it was fine, right? I’d grow up, and I’d get a job, and I’d be the leader of my
life. I wouldn’t have to fake a smile and say I was fine for anyone ever again.
But didn’t they have to too?
My phone vibrated, once, twice, it was a call. I rolled over in bed, repressing a
sigh. I grabbed it from my bedside table and looked at the screen.
Oh, my best friend was calling me.
I smiled, it wasn’t hollow for her. Never for her.
I answered, putting the phone to my ear.
Maybe it wasn’t all fake.
Maybe I did have some control.
