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Who Am I?
I’m not sure who I am. I mean, I know that my name is Anna, and I know that I am fifteen years old, but that’s all that I know. Sometimes I am very depressed and need to be isolated, but other times I am very happy and want to be around lots of people. I’m not really sure which one is really who I am.
This morning, I am feeling very happy. I am excited to go to school, to be around all my classmates. I search through my closet for some hint of color, and settle on a purple cami and a denim skirt. I remember buying these. I was feeling like I am today, happy.
As the day goes on, I begin to question why I was so happy. I try not to do this, as it seems to bring on the depressed version of me. But I cannot avoid it, and I become depressed again, feeling like there is no reason to be happy. I skip lunch, as the anorexic version of me is always in slight control.
As the afternoon drones on, I find myself smiling, though I do not know why. I look outside at the trees, the sunlight making the leaves shine, and the wind making the branches dance. This is enough to make me happy for now. I allow myself to enjoy this high, as I know that it will not last, that I will soon realize that nature isn’t much of a reason to make me so happy.
School ends, and I walk outside. The warm sunlight touches my skin, giving me a sensation that I cannot explain, but I like it. I am glad my shoulders are bare, so that I may feel as much of the sunlight that I can. The wind plays with my hair, and it tickles my ear.
I return home, and go inside. I have no homework, which is a plus in my book. I love school, but I firmly believe that schoolwork belongs in school, and should not spill over into the little amount of free time we as students have.
Without the distraction of homework, I find myself bored. This is never good. The depressed part of me comes out when I am bored. I need to be occupied. I glance at my nails. I realize that I am in desperate need of a new paint job. This will take up some time.
The remover smells nauseating, but I do the best I can. I scrub my thumbnail, willing the blue polish to come off. It does. Time to move to the next nail. The process continues for all twenty nails, toes included. My back hurts from bending over to reach my feet. This saddens me. Which in turn affects the color I choose to replace the turquoise polish I just had. A deep crimson will do the trick.
As it dries, I cannot touch anything with my hands, or the paint will rub off. I wave them in the air, trying to speed up the drying process. I am depressed at the boredom I am facing as I wait for the paint to harden. I sigh.
There is always one nail that wants to give me trouble. This time it is my right ring finger. The coat I initially had was too light, so it was translucent. To solve this dilemma, I put another coat on this nail only. The paint is not totally dry, so it smudges as the brush touches it. I scrub at my nail with a tissue, but that only gets stuck. It looks awful, as does my current outlook on the world.
Somehow, my nail is fixed, and it dries. I am happy. I wont have to worry about it again for another week, when I paint them all again. The process repeats each and every time. It scares me that something as little as painting my nails can have such an effect on me that it is able to bring out both sides of my personality multiple times throughout the process. The fear strengthens the depressed version of myself, and weakens the happy version of myself. I still don’t know which one I really am.
The next day. The air is dark and cold, even though it is summer. Clouds, thick and gray, cover the sky. My mood matches the outside world. I am depressed. I browse through my wardrobe, sickened by all the color. I select a black shirt and gray skirt. I remember buying these. I was depressed then, too.
School does its best to cheer me up. We can’t go outside for gym, so we don’t have to run on the track. Thank God. I smile a little. I feel a bit of my happy self shining through.
Lunch is skipped again. I spend the thirty minutes looking at my new manicure. I turn my hands this way and that, seeing how the color looks in the florescent light. Later, I decide, I will have to see how it looks in the sunlight. That is, until a clap of thunder reminds me that the sun didn’t come out today. All traces of my happy self disappear for now.
I return home, this time carrying a load of homework. I have a research paper, and a math sheet. Its June, shouldn’t the year start winding down? But no, teacher decided that she wanted to go into overdrive. I’m glad I don’t have any other plans for the evening, although a night of television sounds a whole lot better than researching the cause and effect of acid rain, with quadratic equations afterward.
As I start writing, I feel happy again. I don’t know why, perhaps it was just that I knew that I was getting done with my work. My load doesn’t seem so bad anymore.
My name is Anna, I am fifteen, and I am not sure who I really am. I’m not sure if I’m a happy person, full of life, or a depressed loser, whose mind has come across the option of suicide more than a handful of times. But maybe I am both of those. Maybe I am depressed and happy, all rolled into one. Maybe, just maybe, it is all part of who I am.