The other day I was home alone. I was terrifying. I haven't been left alone since, well, you know. I called up a friend of mine (we'll call her R). She came over, and I was a total wreck. At first we talked about everything but what I wanted to say. The weather, her exams, a new pair of shoes I don't have the guts to buy. Finally she said it. The question everyone is too afraid to ask me.
"Was it my fault?"
As Ella mentioned in a previous post, I had sent letters to my friends and family telling them I loved them and that it wasn't their fault.
R was looking at me with such an intense look I couldn't lie again. Truth is, it's everyones fault, but then it isn't. I was once comfortable with myself. Perfectly happy with who I was. It wasn't until all my friends started pecking at their flaws, that I decided I was wrong too. I couldn't understand it. In my eyes everyone of them was perfect, still are. If they think their ugly, I must be horrendous to look at. I told her this, and more.
Everything just tumbled out of my mouth. everything. Then R showed me something I still can't believe. She rolled up her top, and there on her perfectly flat, tanned stomach were pink scars. She confessed that she's a self harmer too. Well, she was. For a moment it was like I was staring at a mirror. I could see all my insecurities, flaws and thoughts in her. I wanted to bundle her in my arms and carry her away. She explained how her sisters (she has 3) are always the pretty ones in their friend groups. How they always have boyfriends, and people who constantly admire them. How they are always told how beautiful they are. How she is the "ugly sister".
We cried and hugged for so long. I think I've finally found someone who understands. Someone I can finally confide in, who doesn't sit at a desk with a plaque proclaiming their psychology degree. Don't get me wrong I love Miss Melody, but sometimes I don't think she fully understands.