Smart Girl

02.15.17

or when someone can see.

if you can remember back to when i mentioned the girl who said she would always be open to talk if i needed to, place her in this entry, my dearest journal.

analise kwake knew what it was to have mental health issues. her depression was bad, and god, can her eyes see past a facade.

sixth period spanish. we're playing a sort of game oriented around the puerto rican holidays we had learned about in a video during class, in which a question and the multiple choice answers were projected onto the board, and depending on which answer we thought was correct, we would move to a different corner of the room.

first question. nobody stood for a long time, as they were taking a while to process the question; hell, so was i. it took a fair amount of brain power, admittedly.

when i stood to walk to the corner, everyone flocked after me.

i wanted to slap them all for not thinking for themselves, for having me do the work for them. for no true reason in particular, i felt the need to cry.

"you okay?" analise asked in the next round. i grunted in response. earlier in the period, she stated that she thought i had anxiety. i did not want it to be true.

later, during seventh period, i texted her to explain, because why the hell not?

'you're putting so much on yourself it's making me worried. a lot o fpeople thank that since you're 1st rank your life is perfect and everything is easy for you . . . this is really unhealthy and i think you need help . . . i think you have atypical anxiety.'

i didn't want to be that girl. the one with every damn issue under the moon rather than the sun, because no one can see at night. the one that people only see the outer shell of.