I was surprised when people asked me why I was so happy. First I asked them what was wrong with being happy…then I asked myself how I managed to look so happy when all I wanted to do was break down. Every morning in school I’m the one that says ‘good morning’ to people and peps them on. I’m also the one that gets yelled at for not constantly saying they are wonderful, their ideas are wonderful, and they are flawless.
I know they’re teens, just like me. But they should know by now that they don’t have to do everything on their own and make it perfect the first time. They have no problems with asking grown ups for help, but as soon as someone else their age makes a suggestion…get outta their way! Cuz that kid must just be a snotty stupid…Thing. Thing.
They call me thing sometimes. I told them to stop it, but they think it is a joke. At least I’m not their whore, or bitch, or something. But the words still hurt. Even if it wasn’t said in spite, I don’t want to be their thing. I’m a girl. A young woman. Over the summer, I finally managed to look in the mirror and say ‘wow. I have some pretty features.’ I do. I love my eyes. I’m not all ugly. I’m not all thing.
When we’re holding a conversation, when they’re laughing and happy, that’s when I feel human. That’s when I feel like a part of life. Then they turn angry for who knows what reason, or put on a sour face because it’s ‘just another school day’ and I wonder how they can be so negative. It’s no fun being negative by choice. They choose to be unhappy.
I don’t. When I am unhappy…there is nothing I can do to escape it. I don’t choose to be unhappy, not like they do. It just happens. I think it’s just my crazy teen hormones running rampant, but I am seventeen. That should have happened years ago…of course, years ago I was more or less an emotionless rock, so maybe that’s all catching up to me now.
When they are happy, I envy them. They can go from being ‘unhappy’ or ‘miserable’ to laughing and enjoying themselves at the telling of a joke…I can smile, sure. But deep down, it doesn’t go away. It just catches up with me later.
I am alone. I smile and say hello and look like I have a purpose, but at night when they’ve all gone out together to see a movie, I am here, in my room. Listening to laughter even just outside my own door, in a world I’m not welcome to.
Don’t even get me wrong. I love life. I refuse to give it up without a fight. But just loving life isn’t enough to stay happy. Every night when I curl up and go to bed, I dream of a future…any future. College life in a dorm, with a roommate to gossip with, or life alone in an apartment. When I’m all alone in this house it’s not as bad as when I’m alone in this room…shut away like an embarrassment on her home. I think…The sooner I get away from here, the sooner I may find happiness. A happiness that’s strong enough to actually become a part of me.
Until then…this smile is just a mask, even if it’s a natural one.
