Once upon a time, there was a girl.

She lived with her parents in the heart of the city. She was an average girl with a plain voice and a forgettable face.

She had a boyfriend who was just as average as her and he told her he loved her every night before she fell asleep.

She liked talking on the phone late at night, watching black and white movies and listening to music on her way back from school.

 

We all know her. We watch her move- drifting silently past the hallway, humming a tune in the bus or tap on cold white glass on foggy winter mornings.

What we do not know about her is that she is hurt. What we do not see is that she is not who she seems to be. She feels safe and in comfort of the person she disguises herself as.

What we do not realize is that her body suit- her little act, is an act itself. You ask yourself- but she seems so fearless, so effortless…so average. She is well beyond pretending or even calling it a fake.

Hurt- over and over again, has made her bring her shield up higher. Years of practice has made it effortless. Her body suit is a part of her now. She believes it, and when you silently watch her from a distance, you believe it too.

She will never tell you her desires. What her boyfriend hears is what he wants to hear. He hears praise, love- a fabricated lie. She will never tell you her needs.

She secretly waits for something, or someone to come break her shell- to change her forever. She’ll never tell you that, though. She might not admit that herself.

She is too busy being the strong 21st century woman that she is. She was caught looking at the mirror one day, searching for herself- only to find the society’s version of her. So she still zips up her body suit everyday in the morning.

You’re not alone. We all have our body suits, our shields, our acts. We all strive to be safe. We all travel miles and break hundreds of hearts to search for ourselves.

We all keep an eye for that popular-culture “prince charming” or real life “perfect boyfriend” who would break our suit. We are fed on movies and drink what society gives us.

All of this to let it go and be free. Nobody likes to get hurt. Don’t we turn away or flinch when somebody raises their hand? Doesn’t “I’m fine” tumble out of our mouth without even a sick taste of lie in our tongue? We all keep up our guard, our little suit, whether we like it or not.

The girl we read about it is not around us- she’s within us. Every time you get close, a small crack cuts through.Every time you get hurt, the crack still remains but you work harder to build the wall around you stronger.

Compare this to a mental scar. By the end of it, we are broken- but stronger. We still secretly want to let go but it’s too hard.

It’s too hard to be vulnerable at this age. It’s too hard to give up on a friend who has kept you alive since you remember.

Admitting you’re fake or pretending is not easy. It’s easier to be hypocritical and call somebody else that. Admitting you’re her is not easy, but nobody said life is easy.

Your body suit- is your best friend, and your worst enemy.