Everybody looks at me to be perfect. The only child, gets everything she wants, cheerleader, and popular. People think I’m spoiled and that I think I’m better than everybody else. The only thing is that there’s a difference between what people think and what really is.

Yes, it’s true, I am an only child. That doesn’t mean anything. It just means that my parents can put even more focus and pressure on me. I don’t get everything I want. I am not rich, actually we are in deep recession right now. I never wanted to be a cheerleader, my mom forced me into it because she has the irrational fear that I will be different. An outcast. The popularity just came along with the image.

Everyday I wake up and put on clothes that we really can’t afford and put on makeup that makes me look awake and happy. Then I go to school and start the façade. When I come home, I feel freer. I don’t have to pretend in the safety of my room.

I drop my backpack on the floor and walk into my bathroom. There it is on the counter. Glinting, metal, and sharp. My razor. I think over the stresses in my life until my head hurts. Then I pick up my razor and press it against my wrist.

The razor bites into my skin greedily. Tiny red beads squeeze out of the cut. Soon the beads turn into a stream. I feel relaxed and calm. Sometimes I swear it is the only thing that keeps me sane. For a few minutes there is no one else in the world and there is nothing to worry about. I start to fade and my mind clears. The only thing keeping my connected was the throbbing in my wrist.

My mom shouts from the kitchen for me to come and get my dinner. I use a paper towel to stop the bleeding. I flush the soiled papers down the toilet. I put a bandage on my cut and pull my sleeve back down.


No one will ever know. It’s my secret, my escape. I’m just another person with my own issues. Nobody is perfect. Just like that song “even the best fall down sometimes.”