A/N: Alright, before you read this, I just want to warn you - it isn't funny. Yes, I know what you're thinking, "Wait - a story by AmazingBlazes that isn't even FUNNY? How wrong is THAT?!" Well, to answer your question, it isn't wrong. This has been sitting on my dresser for ages, and I felt like I needed to post it. So read it - I hope you understand it.


Sometimes I think I'm the best actor in the world. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not bragging, nor am I complaining, I just feel like I have to get some of this off of my chest. It's not like high school is bad, or anything, it's just that I feel I'm too old for it. Not intellectually, of course, but the little everyday catfights, the silly "Oh my gosh does he/she like me" problems, the attitudes, feel so far behind me that I have to try really hard to feel part of the teenager's life. No one notices, though, I hide it too well.

I'm the strong one, the standing up one, the one who never seems to feel fear of pain. The one you look up to, the one you let tell you things no one else can. The one who never stumbles, never falls. The perfect one. Well, let me tell you that it isn't easy, always being strong. You think that what you say doesn't matter, that I'm too "perfect" to have feelings. Yeah right. Every word you say sinks in somewhere, influences how I act of feel inside. Not that you'd ever see it, I hide it too well.

Always smiling, a pleasure to have in class, preppy, cheerleader, teacher's pet, popular. Does my hair look okay? Is my mascara smeared? Do these jeans make my butt look big? Do you know me? You probably hate me, you're just too two-faced to show it. Can I trust you? I'm not ugly, am I? Do you think I'm ugly? Why doesn't anybody "like" me? Or maybe I'm too two-faced to show you that I don't even like myself. But you could never figure that out, could you? That I'm NOT miss self-esteem girl. You know why? I hide it too well.

You might find me helping old ladies across the street, or babysitting for free. I might be cooking dinner for my busy family or organizing a can drive at my school. I'm a model citizen and a goody-two-shoes. But I hate these shoes. I want nothing more than to rebel, to lash out against the ones I've been helping for so long. To dye my bouncy blonde hair blue, to wear all black, to skip church and to cuss and to party. But you'd never know this just looking at me, miss-pretty-in-pink. I hide it too well.

To one person, I'm the jerk, to another, the best friend. I could be euphoric with someone, then become incredibly depressed with another. One minute I could care less about the world, the next I'm impassioned. Certain people think I need an attitude adjustment, while others disagree, saying I'm the kindest person they know. The truth is, I don't know who's right. I've put on so many masks for so many people that I almost don't know who I am anymore. I can't spend a day just being myself because myself is gone, wasted away with the innocence of childhood. The truth is, after hiding for so many years, maybe I will never be able to be me again. Maybe I hid myself too well.