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Who is Matty?
Matty is a shadow, blending into the background and hoping to somehow become invisible.
Matty is listening to music constantly, connecting to the angsty lyrics and tapping her fingers or feet to the beat of the drums or the outstanding guitar.
Matty is reading, to enjoy the feeling of gaining knowledge because it's one of the only things she can still feel.
Matty is playing video games whenever possible, and lost in her thoughts just as often if not more, because living in a fantasy world, even temporarily, is better than staying in the real world.
Matty is a voice that is just a bit too quiet, a mind that is just a bit too dull, a body that is just a bit too weak, and a will that has significantly diminished from what it once was; wanting to be the best, but knowing that she just isn't good enough and she never will be.
Matty is taking too long, too hot showers to remember how to feel, or taking short, cold showers to remember that she does not deserve it.
Matty is watching as the world leaves her behind, continuing while she is stuck in a bad place.
Matty is soft, uncontrollably messy black hair, occasionally adorned with a bow--if she can be bothered, or if she thinks people are starting to catch on to her façade.
Matty is blue-grey eyes, eyes that used to be filled with life and happiness, eyes that are now dull, cold and unfeeling.
Matty is going to sleep at night and wishing she would never wake up.
Matty is socially retarded and wants nothing to do with people--save for the small, occasional wish that she had someone.
Matty is counting her steps, avoiding tiled floors to the best of her ability, washing her hands frequently, repeating things over and over because they're not right, and wishing, hoping, that everything would just go away.
Matty is not seeing a point in anything she does--none of it matters, so why should she bother?
Matty is knowing that something is desperately, extremely wrong, but not being able to say anything because no one cares enough to even listen, let alone help her.
Matty is praying, the frequency lessening as time passes and her hope fades slowly, that things will get better, that someone will fix her, and that the few things she still cherishes will not be taken away or become dull.
Matty is hiding herself away from the world and everyone in it--a smile when someone (anyone) politely asks how she is, a "no thanks" when someone wants her to do something or even leave her apartment, a fumbled, stutter-filled conversation with a teacher about a grade, and a carefully composed story when a particularly nosy adult asks if she's okay as if they actually care.
Matty is trying just about anything to bring forth some sort of emotion, something to show her that she still has a reason for anything, even living.
Matty is a nice, loyal person on the inside--but she doesn't trust anyone enough to show them that, to let them see her secretly delicate, vulnerable personality.
Matty is crying to herself during a thunderstorm, wearing goggles to hide the flashes of lightning and headphones to drown out the thunder (but she can still feel it, can still see the brilliant light that makes her feel empty)--lying in her bed, curled up into a ball under a nest of covers and wishing for once that she was not alone.
Matty is the ocean on a cold, rainy day; a lonely, abandoned puppy searching for shelter and maybe even a home, hoping that someone would be kind enough to take her in, care for her, and treat her well--but knowing that it's not going to happen.
Matty is chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry, each day a mix or even just one of the flavors--no one, not even herself, knows which ones will be present on any given day.
Matty is sitting on a swing at the deserted park, swinging slightly and wondering what she had done to make her deserve all that's happened to her.
Matty is surviving rather than living, doing things not because she wants to but because they are necessary.
Matty is not wanting to eat more in fear of getting bigger or hearing another "fat" comment aimed at her.
Matty is turning up her music to full volume, mashing buttons on her game, or leaving the apartment to avoid the hurtful words--she tells herself that they don't bother her, but they have already destroyed her self-esteem.