I wasn’t me, when I lived there. I pretended to be one of the cool ones. But I was just a wannabe. The people I hung out with weren’t my friends, they just let me tag along. They laughed in my face, they made fun of me, and I was too oblivious to notice.
But then, when I told them I was moving away, and none of them even cared, I realised that they weren’t my friends. I wasn’t their friend. They didn’t give a crap about me. Not at all.
So when I moved here, I invented a new personality. A new person completely.
No more Stephanie, I became Steffie.
I stopped straightening my hair, and instead I made it as big and fluffy as I could. Like when puffer fish go big when predators are nearby. I figured that the bigger and more flamboyant I was, the less likely I was to be seen as prey.
That’s why I have big hair and red lipstick and why I wear brightly coloured coats and clunky shoes and why I talk as loudly as I can about even the most mundane of things.
I do anything that makes me seem more intimidating and interesting than all the other scary people who might reject me. Because I don’t want to be ignored, because then I get lonely.
And I hate being lonely.
But apparently I’m just too intimidating and interesting now. No one talks to me, but they all talk about me.
They pretend to ignore me, even though they don’t.
And I feel so lonely.
And you can say that I should just try being myself, but I honestly don’t know who that is anymore.
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