Chameleon Girl (mild sui trig)

It takes me nearly an hour to exhaust my ideas for that list, ranging from the profound to the most trivial of reasons, like to miss tomorrow’s history exam...ridiculous, and yet still strangely compelling. I grin to myself as I consider how ludicrous that reason would be, this is how I rationalise letting myself write these things down- I’m smiling, aren’t I? Maybe it’s not for the purest of reasons, but I’m smiling, and it’s not fake- and how often does that happen in my life anymore. I’m not hurting myself...not physically at least, so how could this possibly be more damaging than pressing a blade to my skin? It’s not like I’m seriously considering it...am I? I only collect pills so that I can watch the beautiful kaleidoscope of colours, blues, reds, yellows, whites, tans and greens moving over one another, seemingly watching me, full of implications.

It wasn’t like I had a plan, it’s not like i was thinking ‘I’m going to kill myself next Tuesday’, no, I was just plotting for every possible future, making contingency plans. Eventually, someone was going to realise who I really was, and at the rate talk spread in our school, everyone would know within a day...they’d hate me. It would be time. When no one on this earth wanted me around anymore, I’d be ready. My parents tell themselves (and me) that they love me, that they’d be completely lost without me...but is it true? Would they really miss me, would I even miss them? I sense we’re all just refusing to ask those questions, way too afraid of what the answers might be. This afternoon when I’d made my way back home and was sitting at the kitchen counter, elbows propped up and head in my hands, mum said she was “proud” of me...I’m surviving...coping with the pressure so well, I smiled and said thank you. Inside I was crying, I’m such a liar. Could my parents really miss this, this girl who was meant to be me.

It’s too sad to admit out loud. But the shortest list of all was the people who’d miss me if I were gone. Without Ally, I’m too much of a chameleon at school to have true friends, peeling off layers of myself to suit the occasion. Drifting between groups of people, different classes, different settings, different expectations and different looks. I would morph seamlessly to mirror the group I was surrounded by...I was good at it. No question, invisibility was my thing. But that didn’t make me interesting in my own right- only for the people I could imitate. The problem is, no one remembers what colour the chameleon starts out; no one cares whether they’re beautiful, they only have to blend in. Conform or die. High schools a lot like that too, it doesn’t matter who you are, strip it away, leave nothing but a blank canvas and be ready to imprint yourself with the visual and imbued characteristics necessary for survival.