This is my essay from 7th grade. EARLY seventh grade- AKA, don't judge my grammar that much! XD
Some people believe that at the very center of the passionate and careless emotion that is love, a small chip of thought lies. It is a small chip of common sense, embedded deep into our hearts, so that no matter where we go, or who we love, there is always a choice. These people are often the most insecure beings that I know. They believe that someone can choose their soul mate. They believe that no matter what, who you love is ultimately your decision. In their minds, a major part of that decision is something very simple- intelligence; the power of being right. I must admit, I was one of those people not even six months ago. I was wrapped up in myself, thinking that if I looked perfect, or if my hair was done just right, someone might love me. Of course, I was deceived, looking into the pages of a magazine for guidance, instead of the pages of my heart. I believed that there was a right way to look, and a wrong way to look. There was only one form of beauty in my mind. You either had it, or you didn't. Beauty was everything to me, but oh how wrong I was. Deceit is a powerful thing, and my mind was truly warped.
I looked into the high-gloss beauty that was Seventeen. Tan, flawless skin, wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes- those were all that adorned the carefully arranged pages. I sucked in my stomach, pouted my lips, widened my eyes, and peered warily at the girl in the mirror. She looked fat, her skin was blemished, her lips chapped, and her eyes an ugly, plain brown. I sighed, looking back and forth from the picture of the gorgeous blond riding on the horse along the beach, to boring old me. Many thoughts raced through my head. You are beautiful, said one. Your skin is disgusting, said another. Why can’t I be anything like her? Said the last. As I looked from her, to me, and back to her again, my eyes welled up with tears. My eyes look so much better when I cry, I thought, staring forlornly into the mirror. They almost look hazel. My cell phone started vibrating, and I glanced at the message that was written across the screen.
Y arent u at school? Luv, Vonnie. I stared at the text for a long time before writing back.
Sick. That was what I told everybody. Of course, I didn’t tell them why. I didn’t tell them about my Bipolar, or how my medicine was messed up. I didn’t tell them about the panic attacks, but that was okay- my closest friends knew. Yvonne didn’t write back, and I assumed that a teacher was nearby, or that she had gone back to the classroom. Slowly, I dragged myself back to my bed.
That night, the tears came, and they came hard. At first, I thought I would cry all night, but then my eyes dried up, and no more tears could come. That was when I usually fell asleep, but that night, it was somehow different. No matter how long I tried, sleep wouldn’t come. It was only in the early hours of the morning, that I realized there was no use in trying anymore. So, I got up and walked over to my bookshelf. The first thing I saw was my old yearbook from Mitchell. Dreary eyed, I opened it and sat on the floor with my legs crossed. With each picture, memories came flooding back. Crushes, secrets, inside jokes- they were all hidden within the depths of pictures, bringing back memories that I had long forgotten. Images flashed before my eyes. “House” at recess, my status as the druggie sister, Arohi and Rachel’s impressions of New York hot dog salesmen, “modeling” practice, grass in my hair, Meghan’s awkward moments of naivety, Gretchen’s private nickname being broadcast to the whole world over Facebook, soccer mutiny, aromatherapy, and one particularly starry night and a wish upon a helicopter. The tears came back as it all played through in my brain, one amazing movie of friendship, drama, and discovering yourself again. So it was at 4:00 on a Tuesday morning that I finally figured out what it means to love. To love unconditionally, without doubt, with not a hint of self-preservation, or a chip of thought in your heart- that all came to me just thinking about the beauty of friends, the beauty of my friends; that all came to me just thinking about how much I’m worth to them, beautiful or not.
Love is unknowing; it does not see flaws. What other people perceive as blemishes in the personality or appearance of another, love perceives as character added to the beauty of the soul. It sees not stereotypes, diseases, or reputations. No, love sees only the good, the beauty, the undiminished, unflawed spirit inside, and the outer beauty is only the shiny wrapping paper; to love, the true present lies beneath. I look back on that discovery as a defining moment in my life. To dig through the ugly trash of lies and find what lies beneath is truly an accomplishment. When someone finds their soul mate, no chip of thought will lie in the depths of fate. I thought that I was right, that love was something that could be manufactured. But the truth is the secret of love is not to be right. No, the secret of love is the right to be wrong.
As you can see, I've changed a lot in the past year and a half. Most of you who know me well know that I don't really believe in soul mates or love that lasts. There are only two things I really believe that are in this entire essay- that is, the power of friendship (although now I've learned that it doesn't always last forever) and the very last sentence.
No matter how much I wish that I could be the girl who wrote this essay again, I can't. There's no going back. Things are the way they are for a reason. And who I am now, this is me. So, let the critiques begin!
