They teach you that the guidence counslers are here to help. You can go to them for any problem. But, what if I'm too scared to get help? What if I'm too scared to be like the others. What if I'm too scared to change? Will they notice? Will they ask the perfect kids, the perfect actors, will they ask me if I'm okay?
The thumb tack fell out of my hand, I had just taken it from the teachers desk before coming in here. To lose it, to cry my eyes out. It's okay if I stay in here for a long time, the others think that I'm just fixing my hair, or my makeup. Like the other popular girls. But I'm not like the others. No, I come in here to cry, to hurt, to bleed, not like the others.
Who can I go to? All my friends are fake. Those are the things you learn in the world of popularity. The more friends you have, the more backstabbers you have. But I don't need someone to talk to. I convince myself that I am fine. Even when I know I am not. Not once would I be asked, "are you okay?" Not once, would anybody care. Not once, would I have a chance to tell my story.
The tack dug into my fresh skin. A new scar would appear in about a week, Just a dot compared to the other deep gashes and long scars. Crisscrossed beautifully on the tan skin on my hip. It was artsy, one X there, and another swirling scar next to it. No one could figure out my secret by looking at my arm, or legs. I wore the skimpy bikinis like the other girls, but they all had to cover my hip. my 'birthmark' if anybody saw. I'm still normal. I'm still popular. Not once will I break down and cry infront of people. Not once will they ask me. Not once will I want them to.
Fine, Sarah wins. By this I meant to say that even the most perfect people you can think of, are probably hiding something. They have/had problems. Even if you don't know it, they too, are hurting inside. Even if they do seem perfect to you. So open your eyes, listen to the cries of help that so many people send. Help them.
