It Gets Better

I was thinking last night, really thinking, and I've realized that I'm a lot happier now than I was at this time last year. I'm in a better place than I was before.

Last year, my smiles were fake, pasted onto my face to give the illusion of happiness. There were some real smiles though. There were times I really was happy. But for the most part, I was hurting inside. I was hanging out with people who really were no good for me. I was getting yelled at, getting told I wasn't good enough, getting made fun of by people I thought were my friends. I tried so hard, and almost ended up becoming someone I'm not. It hurt. It wasn't fair. But I didn't want to admit anything was wrong. I've always been told, by my grandma more than anyone else, that I'm good at reading people, good at knowing who to trust, who to get close to, and I didn't want to be wrong. I didn't want to admit I'd made a mistake in trusting someone who was no good for me.

The fake smile, fake laughter, fake happiness became a part of my everyday appearance. I wanted people to think I had everything in control, that I could handle it. Really though, inside I felt like I was falling apart, like my world could crumble around me at anytime. I was scared, and no matter how many people I was around, I always felt alone.

Because I didn't want anyone to guess how I was feeling inside, I tried to bury everything I was feeling deep inside. I wanted the feelings gone. I wished I couldn't feel anything because feeling nothing at all would have been better than feeling so hurt and upset. Desperate to hide my own problems, I thought I could try helping my friends out with theirs. I thought if their problems were worse than mine, which sometimes they were, that I would start to feel better. I was wrong. I thought I could handle it all. I was wrong. It was too much drama, too much pain.

I didn't want to hang out with my friends. I didn't want to hang out at home. I didn't want anything. I just didn't want to be. But I did. I thought if I kept it up, kept going the way I was going, that things had to get better. But they only got worse. The arguments became more frequent and over stupider things. I felt worse after each argument than I had the argument before. I was so angry at the world. It wasn't fair, the way I was feeling. I felt trapped. I spent longer in the shower each night than usual, crying. I cried in the shower so no one could tell I was crying. I quietly cried myself to sleep so many nights. I didn't want anyone to know I was so upset. I wanted life to go on as normal, wanted everyone to think everything in my life was perfect. I needed that image of perfection that I could look at.

I put up with this all until last March, when I ran away from my problems. I went down to my dad's house for Spring Break, and when I came back to New York, I stopped hanging out with the people who had made me hurt so much before. I started hanging out with different people, making new friends. It hurt still, seeing my old "friends." A part of me wanted to run back to them. Maybe I'd gotten what I deserved. Maybe, I don't know why, but maybe I somehow didn't deserve to be happy. Then the better part of me would remember the pain, anger, and sadness I'd spent months feeling. I'd remember all the times I cried in the shower, all the nights I cried myself to sleep. And I'd turn the other way. I didn't want anything to do with them.

The new friends I'd made, they liked me for me. They weren't trying to change me the way my old "friends" did. I didn't have to pretend to be someone I'm not. The more time I spent with them, being myself, the better I felt. I was starting to feel really truly happy again. My smiles were real. My laughter was real. The happiness I felt, it was all real.

Then summer came, and I hardly saw anyone all summer. I went down to my dad's again, and it felt good to be away from New York. I didn't have to worry about the awkwardness of running into one of the people who'd hurt me, because I was 573 miles away from them. When I got back, I spent the rest of the summer babysitting my little ten-year-old sister.

Finally, school started again. I'm hanging out with different people than who I hung out with last year. Some people, people who've been there with me for years, I hang out with them still. I hang out sometimes with the new friends I'd made after Spring Break, but not as often as I thought I would've been. I talk to them, but I think, some of them at least, knew I was hurting, knew I need friends at that point, and were willing to accept me into their group at the time. I know I'm still welcome to hang out with them, but things are just different now. I'll always be thankful to them though because they don't know it, but they taught me how to be happy again. They taught me that I don't have to change who I am, that it's ok to be myself. They taught me to love myself again, and that who I am is good enough.

This year, my smiles are all real. There is no fake happiness, no false image of myself I'm trying to show. I'm more comfortable being myself because no one is trying to make me be someone else. I know they say you shouldn't depend on other people to make you happy, and I don't. But I do owe the way I feel to the people who came into my life, whether for the first time or coming back, after last Spring Break.

I'm free now.

I smile.

I'm who I am.

I laugh.

I'm happy.