When You Don’t Know Who You Are
Someone asked me what my favorite color was yesterday. I didn’t know. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I don’t know who I am.
Someone asked me what my favorite color was yesterday.
I didn’t know.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I don’t know who I am.
My mother will tell you I’m her eldest daughter, that she’s really proud of me and the things I’ve accomplished. She will tell you that I’m really hard on myself and that I don’t have a very high opinion of myself. She thinks I have a lovely heart, and am a good friend. She knows I’ve made mistakes, but she understands that it’s part of life. She will tell you that I’m a good big sister, even though we both know I could be better. She’ll tell you sometimes I get so depressed that I cry on the phone to her for no reason.
My best friend will tell you that I’m a recluse and often bail on plans. That I suck at keeping in touch, but that I’ll still make it to a girls night every now and then. She will tell you that for the past two years I have been in love with the wrong boy and that he’s hurt me countless times, and that she doesn’t understand why I’m still in contact with him. She knows that sometimes I just need that extra push to be social, and once I’ve had a few drinks I’ll be the life of the party.
My colleagues will tell you that I work hard, unless I’m depressed, then I will just keep to myself and do what needs to be done. They will tell you that I smile a lot, and strike up random conversations with my customers. They will say that they don’t believe how young I actually am. They will tell you that I keep to myself on work trips and very rarely will I join in on a social event.
My flatmates will tell you that I’m never home. I’m either at work or at my mum’s house. They will tell you that I sleep in until lunchtime, and stay up till the early hours of the morning. They will tell you that I drink when I’m really sad, or really happy. They will tell you that I often go through these healthy food phases and never stick to them. They will tell you that I eat a lot of pizza and Indian takeout. They will tell you that I always sing in the shower.
A certain boy will tell you that I can’t let go of the past. He’ll tell you that I’m really insecure and that I hate my body.
He’ll tell you that I only open up when I’m so drunk that I don’t remember our conversation. He will tell you that he likes that I have curves, because he doesn’t like skinny girls. He will tell you that the only part of my body I like is my boobs. He will tell you that I’m ticklish under my knees. He’ll tell you that he’s only ever made me cry once, but that’s just because he never saw all the other times. He’ll tell you that I have so many issues. He’ll tell you that he broke my heart.
My father will tell you that he hasn’t seen me in three years. He will tell you that occasionally he sends me a Facebook message. He will say that he knows my life, and then only be able to tell you about the moments that are on Facebook. He will say that he misses me. He will say that he loves me.
My Facebook page will tell you I have lots of friends, and that I’m happy. I will only post the highlights. It will look like I drink all the time, when in reality if I drink too much I get really sick. It will tell you that I’m always made up, and that I take way too many pictures of myself. It will tell you that I love traveling the world for my job and going out exploring, when I actually barely leave my hotel room.
The girl in the mirror will tell you that I’m horrible to myself. She will tell you that I look at her and wish she looked different. She will tell you that I think she’s fat, ugly, and worthless. She will tell you that I spend hours trying to cover her face in hundreds of dollars of makeup. She will tell you that at the moment I’ve taken to wearing baggy tops because I can’t stand the way her body looks. That I can’t remember the last time anyone other than my mother told me I was beautiful.
I will tell you that I’m lost. I’m sad and I don’t know why. I will tell you that I love music, I love the way it can make you feel. I love the way a photograph captures a moment forever. I will tell you that I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, but for now it’s ok. I will tell you that I don’t know where home is. I will tell you that I love tattoos. I will tell you that I would do anything for my siblings. I would do anything for my family, and for my friends. I will tell you that sometimes I’m not a very nice person, and that I’ve done a lot of things I regret. I will tell you that I crave love and acceptance.
I will tell you that I’m still trying to figure out who I am. 
