She sits on her bed, attempting to read her new book, but she cannot concentrate. She places a bookmark between the pages and shuts the book. She just got home from the movies with her friends, but she didn't have any real fun. She tried to talk, to laugh, to have a good time, but she felt like the other three saw right through her. She looked down at hands, examining them for any sign of translucence. Nope. All she saw was pale white skin and brown freckles.
She looked out the window at the cloudy gray sky and thought to herself, why did she try anymore? What was the point of trying so hard if she was just going to get knocked down again and again? She always tried to get back up, but as soon as she was standing straight and tall, she fell to her knees once again. In that very moment, she almost gave up and stayed flat on the ground. But she remembered what her mother had told her that very day in the kitchen, while she was seconds away from breaking down. Her mother said, "I love you, and you are beautiful." Even though she herself didn't believe that latter, she believed the former was true. Her mother had noticed that she was not herself, but neither mother nor daughter wanted to admit it. They existed in blissful ignorance of her near-depression, or possibly full-on depression.
She knew that at some point, if she didn't get help, she would just quit altogether. So maybe, sometime, she would try talking to her mother about her problem... even though it would nearly kill her to admit something this extreme was wrong with her. She hated feeling so helpless...
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