In reality, I’m invisible. I collapse at the end of the day wondering what it would be like to run away. To disappear. To suddenly vanish. Would anyone notice? I’ve started dreaming about that. To escape.
I know I can’t do that. So I trudge back to hear people tell me I’m not good enough. I want to hide while running down the halls screaming, “Can’t you hear me?” I want to scream out without people telling me I’m simply seeking attention.
But I know there’s more than one of me out there. We’re all hidden behind the mask tattooed upon us. Sobbing behind the smile. This is not a cry for help. This is an acknowledgment to the face in the mirror to face the mirror.