I hate myself. It's not something I say lightly; it's a feeling that has accompanied me, growing and persistent, like a shadow I can't shake off. At first, it was just silent comparisons, quick glances at other people: girls who were prettier, smarter, more confident. Gradually, those comparisons left marks on me, whispering in my ear that I wasn't enough, that I always lacked something, that there was something fundamentally wrong with me.
I knew, deep down, that it wasn't good to compare myself to others. Who can win in a game where the goal always seems unattainable? But even knowing this, envy trapped me. And so, the more I grew, the more I sank into that insidious idea that, for some reason, I wasn't worthy of what I desired. I looked at the world and found it unfair; I asked, almost in anger, why I hadn't been born prettier, smarter… better.
Over time, I started to think that the world wasn't fair. I saw girls who, at first glance, didn't seem to have great physical attributes, but walked with a confidence that I envied. I wondered if perhaps they looked at me with the same eyes with which I looked at others, thinking that I had something they desired. Maybe, to someone else, I could seem privileged. Perhaps someone, at some point, had looked at me wishing to have something I possessed. But knowing this didn't lighten my burden. On the contrary, it made the loneliness and frustration I felt more evident.
Days and months passed without stopping, and suddenly, I felt that my presence no longer stood out as before. I was starting to be forgotten, erased from the picture. I had been someone everyone noticed: friends, acquaintances, adults... everyone paid attention to me. I was used to that, like someone who gets accustomed to receiving their daily ration of sweets. But now, that flow of attention diminished day by day, until it was almost gone. It was painful. I felt like life was taking away an important part of who I was, of what once defined me.
Realizing that I couldn't compete in beauty or intelligence, I decided to transform myself. If I couldn't be more beautiful, at least I could be kinder, more sociable, more loved. So, I changed myself. I started to act differently: adopting a sweet attitude, approaching everyone with a smile, even those my old self would never have looked at. By doing this, I achieved what I was looking for: the attention and acceptance of everyone. I became someone trustworthy, that person everyone wanted close, that everyone needed to feel understood and listened to. I knew everything about everyone, and they trusted me without reservation.
But there was a price. Acting this way, having this "facade" that wasn't really me, was exhausting. Many times I didn't want to talk, but I smiled and listened. I didn't want to hear more secrets, more confidences that didn't interest me, but I nodded and paid attention. I deprived myself of eating freely to maintain a "perfect" figure. I restricted myself from doing things I once loved, simply to not lose the image I had built.
In a way, I had become a version of myself that seemed to have everything under control, but deep down, every smile, every kind gesture, every sacrifice fed the feeling of emptiness. And then, every time I was alone, that cold and heartbreaking question returned: who am I, really?
What was my true personality? I had spent so much time perfecting this facade that I forgot who I really was; I forgot my true self. The nights became endless, trapped in unanswered questions, realizing that the "perfect" image I had built was devouring every authentic part of me. But I didn't have time to find out who I really was. I had to keep feeding that character, to be the "angel" that everyone loved and adored. I spent nights studying the likes of everyone around me, memorizing every detail, every preference, so they would feel that I cared deeply about them… even if that wasn't true. I consumed myself in a role that pushed me further away, day by day, from who I was.
In the end, so much sacrifice, so much repression, exploded. All the accumulated stress finally broke me, and the tension of that perfect life crumbled. It was an incident at school, a disaster of which I can barely remember details clearly, as if my mind refused to accept what I did. Do I regret causing that? I don't know. I don't even know what I want. At that moment, good or evil lost their meaning; all I felt was a devastating emptiness consuming me, a cold indifference clinging to my chest.
After that, I fell into an abyss. I spent months locked in my house, without the strength to go out or face the world. I became a stranger even to myself, a presence so absent that I almost convinced myself that I would never be part of anything again. Until one day, in a last attempt, I decided to take the entrance exam for the best school in Japan. I knew my chances were slim, yet I prepared intensely. Maybe, if I managed to get in, I could start a new life, far from the disaster I had left behind. I could rebuild myself, find myself… or at least, try to be someone new.
Against all odds, I was admitted. For a moment, I thought it was the first step towards a different life, towards a future where I could discover who I really was. But life has a cruel way of reminding you of the past. As soon as I set foot in the hallways of the new school, I encountered a familiar face, a girl from my middle school. She probably knew what I had done; she knew the secrets I had tried to bury. And so, that shadow from my past life caught up with me again.
Fear invaded me. I lived constantly on edge, terrified that at any moment, she would reveal the truth to others. I knew that if that happened, my whole life would collapse. To protect myself, I continued with the same facade: the "angel" loved by all, the person everyone trusted. I made sure to earn the trust of those around me, to build a network of loyalties that could protect me if that girl ever decided to reveal what I had done. If that moment came, I needed everyone to believe in me, to ignore the truth and accept the lie I had shown them.
However, time passed and, to my surprise, she never outed me. It seemed she really didn't recognize me, or maybe she just didn't care. But I couldn't relax; the shadow of my past kept lurking, and my own anguish led me to a desperate conclusion: I had to eliminate any trace that could link me to who I was. The only way to truly be myself was to distance myself from the false version I had created and from anyone who reminded me of my past. I had to root out everything that threatened to expose the truth, and thus, finally, live a life without masks.
I wanted to find my identity, I wanted to be free.
Despite all my efforts, every attempt to expel that girl from school ended in failure. I tried every way I could imagine: I formed alliances with other classes, even made moves I would never have considered before, but the outcome was always the same. She remained there, unperturbed, as if fate itself was determined to make me live this lie until the last day of my time at school. Each failure intensified my sense of confinement, of being trapped in a role that didn't belong to me. Was I really condemned to wear this mask forever? Was it so impossible for someone to accept a version of myself that wasn't the "angel" everyone imagined?
Amid this internal struggle, someone appeared in my life. It was a boy who, if I had to sum him up in one word, would be "perfect." There was nothing about him that seemed out of place. He was popular, had a beautiful, almost unreal face, and above all, he possessed a sharp and confident intelligence. Thanks to him, his class dominated all exams to the point of making them untouchable, invincible in every test. He was, after all, one of those people who seems to have it all. Incredible, right? Part of me felt a deep envy towards him; I wished I could be like him, to achieve at least a bit of that ease and charisma that surrounded him.
But I knew I could never be someone like him, not even come close to him. However, circumstances seemed to have planned otherwise. It was an accident, a strange and unexpected moment that brought us face to face. I remember that day perfectly. He found me in one of my most vulnerable moments, in a secluded corner where, thinking I was alone, I let out some of the tension and stress I had been holding in. I had released a facet of myself that no one, under any circumstances, should see. When I saw him there, watching me, fear overtook me. He was from another class, a rival, and I feared he would use this weakness against me to further damage my group, perhaps even ruin what little I had left of this carefully constructed facade.
But, to my surprise, he didn't. In fact, he did nothing. Well, in a sense, he did: he teased me. But he didn't do it cruelly; every time we crossed paths from that day on, he threw playful comments my way, little jabs that at first irritated me but that over time I began to anticipate with a mix of nerves and excitement. There was something different in his treatment of me. He didn't see the "angel"; he saw the real me, and he didn't care.
Over time, he became irreplaceable in my life, my best friend. He was the only one I could talk to about everything—my dreams, fears, and frustrations. I knew he would always listen to me with that unique attention that seemed reserved only for me. I was surprised by how he focused all his senses on my words, as if every little thing I said truly mattered to him. With him, I could show myself without fear, I could stop acting and just be me, the version of myself that no one else knew.
Sometimes, I thought that for someone like me, trapped in her own role, there was no room for love, that I couldn't allow myself to risk everything I had built. And yet, with him, everything was different. He made me think, for the first time, that maybe in the future, there could be a possibility of something more. I didn't know for sure what I felt for him. Was it love? I wasn't sure. Maybe something romantic could arise between us, or perhaps we would always just be friends, the kind of true friends who are as important as any love. But what I did know, what was clear in my mind and in my heart, was that it didn't matter what kind of relationship we ended up having: I always wanted him by my side.
Every time he made me laugh with his jokes or held my gaze in silence, I could feel a connection that went beyond words. In a world where everyone saw me as the "angel," he was the only one who treated me like a real person, with all my imperfections. And that, just that, was enough to make me wish to have him close forever, even if that "forever" was only in the brief moments we shared together.
Unbeknownst to me, I had begun to depend on his presence in my life.