That Girl Over There Is Better Than Me

I don’t normally condone any comparisons, because beauty comes from difference.

If everything looked, reacted, and felt the same then there would be no loveliness to gaze upon. Contradictions should not be compared, only cherished.

But today I can’t help comparing myself with that girl over there.

She knows she’s beautiful. The world doesn’t intimidate her with her lifetime supply of compliments. She has daily acknowledgements that she is a treasure with her alluring features and charming presence. Her signature half smile relays decades of received validation that translates into self worth.

I feel more heavy than beautiful. Looking into the mirror is more shocking than comforting. Feeling the way I do makes me want to recede into the background where the shadows can protect me from prying eyes. The thought of going out in public on a Thursday night is entertaining in its improbability.

She has a sharp mind. I’ve seen her wheedle out of any tough situation with full marks. She always has something interesting to say and gives insight to her brilliance in casual conversation. She is opinionated on the order of things, but flexible to gaining more knowledge.

I feel more dull. My mind has more of a swamplike essence — flooded and foggy. Instead of going on cool adventures my favorite pastime is staring at the blank wall and trying to gather up the mental capability to make something productive come out of my day.

She is happy. When she has a fit of euphoria she tries to take as many people along for the ride as possible. Her joy resembles a candle, the flame doesn’t diminish upon mass distribution, it only makes the room brighter.

I am anxious. Smiling only makes me wistful, like being hungry and smelling something in someone else’s oven that you aren’t allowed to eat. Happy moments are on a shelf that is high to reach, and can be measured in crumbs.

We are both as similar as we are different.

We are both the same person.

Our name is Haley.

One of us can be met and talked to and hugged, but one can’t ever be seen by anyone.

One of us is known by the ones we love but the other one is hidden far deeper than anyone is capable of venturing.

One of us is real.

One of us is a mask.

We need each other to exist.