Happiness. Joy. Love. Smiling faces of the world. How people always strived to be happy. How much I yearned to become one of those people that were always perfect, never having a care in the world. How effortless it became for me to blend in with those cheerful faces, almost like my own form of camouflage. How unrecognizable the misery and agony appeared to the outside world. While the girl I used to be, slowly vanished into darkness and despair, the world around me continued to move on; spinning,changing, making it more and more demanding to keep up the never ending act. 

It's insane to imagine what provoked such a dire heartache were words. Heart-wrenching words repeated over and over and over and over to the point where they pushed me to a breaking point, a point that forces me to question anything and everything I felt about myself. Every ounce of self-confidence, every ounce of self-respect, every ounce of self-love, every ounce of self-esteem; shattered, obliterated into millions of tiny pieces, because of these words. Too fat. Not pretty. Not smart. Disappointment. Constantly being reminded how I am not worth it, how I will never be exceptional. Astonishing how what people say can alter one's self-perspective; allowing them to be the host of a different show, ultimately having utter and total control over how that person feels. Words being said straight to my face, complete eye contact, watching the other person not care about how it affected me. Knowing what was about to be said would completely destroy me and knowing that these words came from people who were always supposed to build up and encourage, not tear down and destroy caused the most damage, irreversible damage that would stick with me for the rest of my life. 

The continuous build-up of emotions making a wall impossible to break down; creating an impenetrable force to anyone who tried to get to know me. The self-hate continued to consume me and made me doubt myself progressively every day. Regardless of the compliments, the love, the compassion, nothing can repair the damage of what had been done, nothing could ever be taken back. Staring at myself in the mirror, I began to wonder why do I not look like other girls. Watching tears flood into my eyes as I wonder if I have a purpose in this world or not.  Nobody could tell that I was broken, that I kept classified, confined to me and myself. For not wanting to burden others with personal obstacles, obstacles I believed no one could relate too or tolerate. I never wanted to be the person that had too many personal issues to be friends with. Shutting people out became reasonable, the one constant in life. To anyone new I appeared cold and closed off. I began to lose friendships and stopped gaining new ones. Slowly forcing loneliness and fears of never finding reliable people into my mind. And the little bit of dedication I had to the few friends who stuck around, gave me hope that some people still cared. But  I feared losing them more than anything.

The elaborate lies I told everyone else, the amazing self-love and true happiness that I had, were so believable, I even started to believe them. For a split moment in my life, there was this overwhelming sense of happiness, or what seemed like happiness. But every good thing must come to an end, the drip finally stops. And out the thin air, the words were back, coming more from myself than any other person. Continuing to break myself into pieces all over again, crumbling any spirit I had left. Collapsing the hope of the girl I used to know ever returning and leaving this girl that I did nor recognize. This is when it became the worst. The numerous nights I spent crying to myself to sleep, the numerous mental breakdowns, the numerous hateful comments running through my mind on repeat, trying to understand why people ever would say something so coarse. Hiding in the bathroom late at night so nobody could hear me scream. Growing more numb every day to the point where I lost any way of feeling pain or sorrow. Gathering only enough energy to roll myself out of bed. I slowly began to lose the fake smile I put on every day. My camouflage was gradually being removed. 

The difficulties were when people began asking what was wrong. I had been doing a phenomenal job of hiding the pain, but at some point, I knew people were gonna find out my dark truth. I continuously told people I was fine, some believed it and some did not. But the scariest one, my mother. How do I explain to the person that gave me life, that gave me everything, that I don't like who I am? That I wondered what life would be like without me. I could never bring myself to tell my mom, I devoured the pain and put back on my fake smile, hoping I could keep it on this time.