Her

note; this story contains mental health problems and mentions self harm.

Who am I? Am I important? Or am I just a nobody? My head hurt, i couldn’t think, but at the same time, a flow of thoughts was streaming into my head. Who am I really? Am I the boy I portray myself as, or am I faking it all? What if I’m faking it?! What if no one really knows me, what if I’ve been lying to everyone I know?!

Oh god, I’m a terrible person, aren’t I? Why can’t I just be happy with who I am? I should be happy, there’s nothing that's stopping me from being happy as him, there shouldn’t be…right? 

I am him. I am the son my parents love so dearly, I am the boy who makes jokes and laughs with all his friends, I am my little brother’s hero, I am the one he looks up to, who he wants to be when he grows up. I am supposed to protect him, I’m supposed to be strong! I…I have a good life…great parents, good friends and decent grades, I should be happy with this. I should be happy with my life…why can’t I love myself? I am, and always will be the one I am today, so why…why can’t I accept that? I…I am him. Me. My breath was sharp and uneven as I tried to hold the tears in. Why am I like this?

My hands were shaking as I brushed them through my greasy hair. I hadn’t showered in a week, I just couldn’t, the thought of my own body stopped me. Even if I did shower, I probably wouldn’t be able to find the strength to do anything else than just stand there.

Why am I like this? I bit my lip hard, to not let the sobs escape. I just laid there, on my bedroom floor in my dark room, crying quietly. Why couldn’t the ache and the empty feeling in my chest disappear? I Hate myself. I hate myself so fucking much. There was visible proof of that on my inner thighs. Scars, some are old and close to fading, while some were fresh, those scars appeared on moments like this. Moments where I just break down, moments where I can’t stand it any longer. I am selfish, I know I am. I should just be happy, there are so many people who have it so much worse than me! People who suffer, people who have a good reason to be in pain. But here I am! I don’t even have a valid reason to be unhappy! That’s how selfish I am! Hell, this is all probably just a facade, this is all probably just fake, I’m faking it, I know I am, I have to be. I’m just an attention seeking bastard! I let out a loud sob and the tears just kept streaming down my face. my breath was uneven with the occasional gasps for air. Eventually there were no tears left. I had used them all up. I probably look ridiculous laying there crying. I’m such a crybaby. I rubbed my eyes, ignoring the burning feeling of the sensitive red skin around my eyes. With a little bit of effort, I got up on my feet. I have to wash my face before mom and dad are home. They wouldn’t want to see me like this, they shouldn’t have to. 

after I had washed my face, I looked in the mirror. My heartbeat fastened as I looked at myself. I hated it. I hate the person I see in the mirror every morning so much. My jawline is too sharp and my nose too big. I just wish I could look...No! I don’t. I am happy with who I am, how I look, or, well…I'll grow to like it…I’ll grow to like him. Because he is who I am and I can’t change that. Who would I even be if I wasn’t him? Who would I want to be? 

My mind took me back to school last week. I was talking to my friends, and then she walked by. I couldn’t help but to look, she was cute, petite. She had long beautiful hair, and a soft smile on her face. For some reason, she made my heart ache, it didn’t feel good, it hurt. It felt as if my heart was gonna explode. I remember my friends teasing me about her, they said I had a crush. But was it a crush? Was that really all it was? I don’t think so, I don’t think a crush is supposed to feel like that. I don’t know what it was, but she just made me feel so small. There was a heavy feeling inside my chest. What was that feeling? What could possibly make me feel like that? Was it her? Why did she make me feel like that? I remember it hurting the most when she laughed, she had such a warm soft voice. And something inside me wanted to know what It was like to be her for just a moment. What would it be like to be her? What would it be like to have a soft, high pitch voice, and a face with soft features? I felt the emptiness in my chest fill itself, if only just a little bit.

And Oh.

Oh. I…I was jealous of her, wasn’t I? The feeling, it was jealousy. I want… to be her. how had I not seen it before? How had I not understood? I want to be her, or perhaps just a her. I want people to look at me and think “Oh she’s pretty” or “what a beautiful girl”. Oh god, this…can that really be it? Is…is that really who I want to be? Who I’m meant to be? No, no, I can’t. It can’t be. But the thought of it didn’t want to leave. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, I didn’t want to be him, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to have a flat chest and a masculine voice. I want to be her. 

I am her.