When I was eleven years old, I was already a rather insecure little girl. I was working on it and my parents figured that with age and time I would get over it and become more self-confident. One day, at a classmates birthday, everything changed. My heart was completely shattered from a few nasty words from a girl who forgot to wear her thinking cap that day.
We were about to take a group picture and all of a sudden a girl screamed out, I don’t want Laura in my picture, she’s going to break my screen. I couldn’t believe my ears. I didn’t know what to do, how to react, what to say. I tried to hold in my tears, quietly move away from the camera and stay strong. To this day, I still can’t believe that not one girl at the party stood up for me when I didn’t have it in me.
I made it through the party with a fake smile and a stomach full of tears. I never spoke about it to anyone. Now at twenty-five years old, an entire fourteen years later, I still have never taken a picture of my face. Words stick, and hurt like hell. Physical pain passes, but emotional pain does not. To this day, what that mean girl said to me at the birthday party has stayed with me, and has haunted me.
I love social media and posting pictures, but you will never find a picture of my face. The best you’ll get is my face with a bunch of Snapchat stickers and filters all over it. Otherwise, it’s my dog and some trendy purses.