Seven years old. I wanted to be able to dress fully in Justice like everyone else. I wanted to look like everyone else. I wanted to be like everyone else. Being unique was stupid in my eyes. New school, new house. I knew no one. I was the oddball out. At seven years old. I moved into an area with an abundance of money. Where materialistic ideals out-ruled everything else. Suddenly what I brought in for a birthday treat mattered. 

That insecurity of feeling immeasurable compared to my peers always lurked. My clothes weren’t trending when I was eight. Or when I was ten. Or when I was 12. It never went away. When I finally had that chance to make it go away. I did. I could’ve thrown every penny away to buy the clothes I wanted that would make me fit in. I thought it would repair the hole in my heart. To no one’s surprise, it didn’t. 

I had the clothes that my friends did, but it didn’t make anyone care any more than they already did or didn’t, it didn’t make me noticed, and it didn’t change a single thing that I thought it would have. I went from solely being worried about my clothes, to hyper analyzing every detail about myself. Why aren’t I good enough? 

I spent a lot of time thinking about that and comparing myself to others and bringing down others because they didn’t fit the standard of beauty I strived for either. I flat out was ugly. My heart grew bitter and I judged everyone around me. That was 15. That’s what I remember. I remember the outfits-- what I wore. If you asked me the memories I made when I was 15, I’d have very little for you. 

Through quarantine that didn’t really change. I fell into a pit of sorrow and spent countless hours sad and struggling with mental health. During quarantine, I spent a lot of time reflecting. 16 years old was a big age for me. It was anything, but average. It didn’t help I was isolated from a majority of people for a long time. Being stuck with myself was the worst, yet the best thing for me. I started to notice that I was ugly and it wasn’t just on the outside. Change was necessary. 

From there, all the self-depreciation quickly became self-love. Now I am here. I would’ve never in my 17 years of life have thought one’s heart could be so full. Especially my own. I am content. Content with myself and others. I don’t feel the need to judge others for my own gain. I don’t feel the need to bring myself down because someone else had a feature I wish I had. I went from seeing darkness to seeing that light at the end of the tunnel. I no longer want to blend in. 

I want to feel like my own person and be known. I wear the clothes I want to wear. I cut my hair when I want to. I do what I want because, at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, you get what you put into the world. At the end of the day, life is beautiful and if you don’t stop to look at it, you may only remember those clothes that you wore.