Another restless night.

11:30 PM I crawl into bed without washing my face. My pillow cases are already stained with foundation from the night before, and my need for sleep overcomes the fear of my face breaking out. I turn off the lights, and for a moment all I can hear is the slight humming from the tv on top of my dresser. I think that tonight I might be able to fall asleep without listening to 30 Rock playing in the background of my dreams, so I lie down and hope for the best.

1:00 AM I was wrong. After tossing and turning and holding my eyes shut for minutes at a time, I sigh, and get out of bed to start up Netflix. It takes a few minutes to load, and when I crawl back into bed I notice the sheets are warm where my body was tucked in only moments before. I sink into them and breath in the solace.

Like always, my mind begins to play on the constant loop of conversations I had through out the day, things I shouldn’t have said, and opportunities I should have taken. I gasp for air, push back my tears, and move my attention to anything but this anxiety. Just then, Liz Lemon’s comforting voice replaces the voice in my head. My cat, Puck, wakes up from his spot in the living room and cuddles up beside me. His body is soft and warm, and I know I will be asleep in only a few minutes.

5:53 AM I lay in bed and anxiously anticipate my alarm going off. I begin to calculate in my head the amount of time it might take me to get ready for work, and decide that another 45 minutes of sleep is more important than attempting to cover up the dark circles under my eyes.

I face myself in the mirror and touch the skin above my cheekbone that has begun to bleed yesterday's mascara.

I feel nothing.

6:45 AM Why did I decide to not wash my face? I begin to wonder if my extra 45 minutes of sleep was worth it as I glance at the pink bumps around my mouth. Puck sits on the floor next to my feet, begging for attention. I refill his food bowl and find my work clothes from the day before, in a pile next to my couch. After putting them on, I move back to the bathroom mirror. My hair is still in a messy pony tail from my sleep, and I make a mental note to fix it once I get to work. I probably won’t.

I glance down at my growing pile of expensive makeup, and consider applying the smallest amount of concealer or mascara. “Mascara isn’t going to help that weight problem”, I think to myself. Ouch. I decide against the makeup, throw on my coat, and head out the door.

With swollen eyes, I try to recognize the girl staring back at me.

"How pathetic," she says to me ironically, "to allow someone else to control you like that."

She is merciless.

These days I am by far my harshest critic.

7:09 AMMy car is covered in ice, and I realize I am going to be late for work, again. I sit in the front seat and turn on the radio. Our song starts to play, and I can feel my anxiety begin to writhe in my chest. I quickly turn to NPR to distract myself. The announcers will undoubtedly be arguing over the most recent Trump debacle, and I sink into my seat. It’s twisted, but I find comfort in the feeling that I’m not the only one that is still hurt that Trump is our new president. I begin to feel sick to my stomach, and turn the radio off altogether.

Minutes pass, though the girl doesn't seem to mind.

I can't remember the last time I knew what day it was.

7:26 AM It’s too cold to not be wearing my winter coat, but I pretend that if I put it into storage, Spring will surely be just around the corner. Stupid girl, stop pretending. I rush into work as the harsh wind cuts across my face.

7:29 AM I stand before my locker where I store my personal belongings. It smells like gym clothes and old candy. I pause briefly with my hand on my phone, and imagine you calling to say that you are sorry about what happened. I want to tell you that you don’t need to be sorry; I want to explain to you what it is like to feel this way, and that it’s painful for me to constantly bottle up my emotions. But I can’t say that to you, I can’t say that to anyone. So I shut my phone off and slide it back into my coat pocket, and close my locker door.

My phone lights up.

It's a call from you.

I glance at the mirror and the girl is there, glaring back at me.

"Don't be a burden." She demands.

But, oh, how I want to share with you everything that's on my mind.

I choke back my emotions long enough for the ringing to stop.

"I'm fine." I lie to the girl.

She just laughs at me.

It's the same condescending laugh every single morning.

7:31 AM I stop at the bathroom door before clocking in to calm my nerves. I have a long day ahead of me and I need to start to focus on my work.

My face is still flushed from the freezing wind. I turn the sink on and wait for the water to feel warm over my hands. It stays cold, however, and minutes pass before I realize my hands have gone numb. I notice a spot on my shirt and wish I would have found a clean one to wear. My hair is still seeping out of my ponytail, but I can feel a headache coming on, so I decide not to touch it.

How did I become this person? You would think that going from a high-maintenance self-conscious teen to a make-up free sneaker-wearing woman would be enlightening, but it wasn’t a change in my self-esteem that created this shift in my appearance. It was the inability to care.

I dig deep into the gap between my rib cages, where my anxiety is writhing.

My jaw locks, and I long for my body to release me as its hostage long enough for me to get you to understand.

This has become humiliating,

so I tape on my smile,

And let the girl drag me back into the spotlight.

7:40 AM I sigh, and decide I need to officially begin my day. I force a smile and leave the bathroom, hoping to also leave my fears and anxieties behind me. In 9 hours I will get to go home to crawl back into bed. It’s fine. Tomorrow will be better. I make a mental note to make sure I get a reasonable amount of sleep tonight. I probably won’t. It’s fine.

"It's fine." I say, trying to convince myself.

-------------------------------------------------------

Me and The Girl (complete)

By Shayla O’Leary

Another restless night.

I face myself in the mirror and touch the skin above my cheekbone that has begun to bleed yesterday's mascara. I feel nothing.

With swollen eyes, I try to recognize the girl staring back at me. "How pathetic," she says to me ironically, "to allow someone else to control you like that." She is merciless. These days I am by far my harshest critic.

Minutes pass, though the girl doesn't seem to mind. I can't remember the last time I knew what day it was.

My phone lights up. It's a call from you.

I glance at the mirror and the girl is there, glaring back at me. "Don't be a burden." She demands. But, oh, how I want to share with you everything that's on my mind. I choke back my emotions long enough for the ringing to stop.

"I'm fine." I lie to the girl. She just laughs at me. It's the same condescending laugh every single morning.

I dig deep into the gap between my rib cages, where my anxiety is writhing. My jaw locks, and I long for my body to release me as its hostage long enough for me to get you to understand.

This has become humiliating, so I tape on my smile, And let the girl drag me back into the spotlight.

"It's fine." I say, trying to convince myself.