I don’t know who I am

Someone asked me what my favourite colour was the other day.

My first reaction was to respond with pink. But then I wondered if it was still pink.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised that I don’t know who I am.

My Mum, if she was still with us, would tell you that I’m her youngest daughter. That I’m a dramatic nightmare sometimes and the sweetest little girl the rest of the time. She would say that she’s really proud of me and the things I’ve accomplished. Especially now. She would tell you that I’m too hard on myself and that I don’t have a very high opinion of myself. She would say that I have a lovely heart and that I always try my hardest. Even when I’m tired. She would tell you that I’m a good little sister, even though we both know I could do better. And I will tell you that sometimes I get so full of grief I just want to pick up the phone and call her. Even though I know no one would be there to pick up the other end.

My best friend will tell you that I’m a drama queen and she wouldn’t want me any other way. That she wishes we could live together and not two hours apart. That I should forget about him and find a boy who treats me how I should actually be treated. She will tell you that for the past three years I have been in love with the wrong boy and that he’s hurt me countless times and she doesn’t understand why I don’t just stop. And I’ll tell you that I would stop if I knew how.

My colleagues will tell you that I work hard and that I am constantly smiling. They will say I connect so well with my patients and that they can’t believe how young I actually am. They will say I never stop laughing and my dancing round the hospital ward always brings a smile on to their faces and the patients. They will tell you I should have more faith in myself and what I am doing. And I will tell you sometimes I am terrified I will never be able to become the nurse I want to be.

My old friends will tell you I never contact them. They notice I’m either at work or at my house. They will tell you I leave them on read or I give the worst replies in the history of replies ever. They will tell you that they miss me sometimes. Like you miss a piece of clothing you swore you’d never want again when you threw away, but now you want it again. They will tell you they can’t believe my Mum is dead. And I will tell you that I can’t believe it either.

A certain boy will tell you that I can’t let go of the past. He will tell you that I’m really insecure sometimes and that that causes so many arguments between us. He will tell you that we open up to each other and then regret it. He will tell you that when we kiss it changes things even though we never talk about it again afterwards. He will tell you that he’s only ever made me cry a few times, but that’s just because he never saw all the other  times. He will tell you that I have so many issues sometimes. And I’ll tell you that he broke my heart in to a million pieces.

My Dad will tell you that he can’t believe I get up at 5:30am most days to go to work. He will tell you that I am one of the strongest people he knows. He will say that he knows who I am and I feel bad that I don’t see it that way. He will say I remind him so much of my Mum. And I will tell you that’s the best thing he’s ever said to me.

My Facebook page will tell you I have a lot of friends and that I’m really happy. I will only post the best bits. And this is the same with Instagram. It will look like I’m always with my friends when in reality I only get to see them when they come home or I go visit. It will tell you that I never stop smiling. But I will tell you that there’s a lot of times when I’m trying not to cry.

The girl in the mirror will tell you that I wish I looked different to the way I do. That I’ve gained weight and my glasses make me look stupid. She will tell you I’m fat and ugly and worthless. She will tell you I spend hours sometimes trying to put makeup on and do my hair nicely. I will tell you that I am so proud I go to work in barely any makeup with my hair scraped back.


I will tell you that I feel lost. I’m sad sometimes and I don’t know why. I will tell you that my life feels like it’s a movie. And that I’m sat right now with a playlist on called songs that make you feel something. And I do. Feel something. But I don’t quite know what that is. I will tell you that I don’t know what I’m doing with my life sometimes. I will tell you that I love my home but it hasn’t felt like Home since my Mum passed away. I will tell you that I love who I am sometimes but that that can change in minutes. I will tell you I would do anything for my sister. I would do anything for my family and for my friends. I will tell you that sometimes I’m not a very nice person and that I’ve done things I regret. I will tell you that I crave love and acceptance and sometimes I feel like I will never get those things.

I will tell you that I have no clue who I am. And I don’t know if that’s sad or beautiful.

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