“I know that you feel a little alone and I'm sorry”, my sister said. I could feel the knot in my throat tighten, my eyes started to water and the air ran short. I wanted to bawl and yell. I wanted to tell her she had no right to say such a thing or to even attempt to empathize with me because she had no idea of how I felt, and she would never have an idea because she was never there. But all of a sudden, I, the snarky middle child, who would always jump at the opportunity to speak her mind, had nothing to say. Everything turned black and I could no longer hear a word she was saying, I didn't care anymore. I was tired of hearing her cheap, overused attempt at an apology. But something in that sentence hit me harder than a wrecking ball. And that's when I realized, there wasn’t a single time when I didn’t feel lonely.

I was so familiar with the utter feeling of loneliness that I have become unbothered by it. However, let's not get confused because I'm not alone, in fact, I’ve never been alone in my life, but I've always been lonely. My earliest memory, that I'm still not sure if it's true or an invention of my imagination, is my 5-year-old self on what I believe it was a Sunday afternoon, being put down from my mother’s arms in front of a weird looking chair. While she left to attend what I figured was one of my siblings and she turned around without even looking back, went into the hall as I watched her fade away. She looked almost glad to put me down, a glint of relief in her eyes at the opportunity of being needed by someone else. Someone who wasnt me. I looked around in the badly illuminated room, in my short white lace dress shining in the living room as being the only light thing in the darkroom and a wave of loneliness came through me. I was in a house full of people, yet I felt lonely.

To be fair, I never said anything not because I didn't have a good support system, which I did have, but because of that loneliness I wanted to be so perfect on my own that I hid every imperfection until I no longer could. I wanted to feel like I didn't need anyone because I didn't have anyone. On the exterior, I had my life together. Many would call me a prodigy because of my level of maturity at such a young age and made bettings on my success. “She’ll be a lawyer!” they said, “No, she’ll be a judge!” “Oh please, she’ll be a brilliant businesswoman, look at her!” Everyone seemed to know who I would be, everyone but me. Growing up so fast has its disadvantages, and knowledge is the root of all evil. So with that knowledge, doubts and insecurities reigned in my mind and before I knew it, I was crumbled to pieces and left nothing more than wasted potential. Sometimes I close my eyes and I can see her, little me, there reading the constitution for children, having her whole life planned out with friends she thought would last a lifetime and dreams that she thought with such certainty she would accomplish. What would she say if she could see me now?

Now my demons are too much to handle and my talent for acting is rusting, nothing I do and nothing I say can hide my torments. My mother thinks I'm going insane and my father is sure he lost his little girl. Our little girl. I lost her too. And in the middle of finding myself, I think I might've lost me even more. I don't like the things that I used to love, the music, clothes, friends, interests, nothing. It has all changed. I like to fool myself and say I grew out of them, but if anything I feel like I’ve shrunken. And if it's possible I find myself to be more superficial than that little girl I used to be and I'm afraid I’ll never measure up to her. I stole her. I stole her from her future, from her parents, from me. I stole her and I lost her. Now we all have to grieve for our little girl.