Ragne's Abyss

I’ve always been a writer at heart, an artist too. I remember making mini books in elementary school and reading them aloud to my class or my mom. I would read my stories to my grandma too. She absolutely loved hearing my work and seeing the drawings that I would give her. I remember she told me, “Don’t ever stop writing and drawing”. I stopped writing. I stopped drawing, painting, smiling, laughing. I never expected my youth to disappear. It was gone in the blink of an eye. 

When we’re young, we see the world through colored lenses. The world looks extremely vibrant, just like in the cartoons. We laughed, cried, explored the world full of whimsy and curiosity. Everything and everywhere was a new adventure. When I was young, I would imagine that I was an explorer, traveling the world and facing the dangers that were placed in front of me. That had a lot to do with my obsession with Dora The Explorer, admittedly, but at the time I felt unstoppable. I was the hero of my own story and the master of my own craft. My smile never faded from my face. In every picture, I smiled from ear to ear with my gap and missing teeth. I was a happy kid.

As our age starts to hit double digits and puberty rises, we become conscious and self-aware. We realize how fleeting our childhoods are, how beautiful those simple times were. The moments we were once living are now nostalgic. You end up regretting taking those moments for granted and wish you could rewind back. Unfortunately, life isn’t a movie. You can’t rewind. 

Middle school is the kicker, the era in our lives that changes use. It’s the time where kids are exposed to new things, encountering different people and various events. Middle school is when I got into social media. I was eleven years old when I created my Instagram account. When I was in 7th grade, the perception that I had about myself switched. I used to wear mismatched clothes and brightly colored shirts with leggings under my skirts. My eyebrows were bushed and I had hair on my arms, legs, and upper lip. My hair was very curly and I would always wear it out. But after looking around and noticing that I was the oddball in the sea of middle schoolers, I felt insecure. When you start to hit puberty, you obtain this dire need to be accepted and wanted. I felt like, in order to make friends I needed to fit in. The best way to fit in was to change myself. 

I was seen as “cringe-worthy” and annoying. I carried the same personality I had in elementary to middle school with me, a huge mistake. I would be ridiculed for my body hair, my curls, the clothes I wore, the gap in my teeth, my height; just about everything. I had never been laughed at before, so it felt like a culture shock when I started getting picked on. All of the things that made me who I was, I changed in order to fit into the new world I was experiencing. I wanted to keep my new friends; I didn’t want them to leave me. 

Since there was no age restriction on social media, I was exposed early to it. I was pushed into maturation at the prime age of eleven. Seeing beauty standards displayed all over the internet, what the boys liked and what got their attention. I didn’t look like the girls at school and I definitely didn’t look like the girls on the internet. I felt so insecure, ugly even and all at eleven years old.  I had yet to even get a pimple! 

I started to mimic, copying what I saw. I straightened my hair, I copied the outfits I saw girls wear at school, I started wearing mascara and painted my nails a different color each week. I remember begging my mom to trim my eyebrows and upper lip because a boy in my class told me that I had a mustache like a man. I later begged her for a razor so I could shave myself after a girl pointed and laughed at the hair on my armpits. I even went as far as copying other girls’ personalities. Yes, entire personalities. 

When I started changing, forcing myself into areas I wasn’t invited in, I was being seen. The bullying paused, I started making friends and being known. It was great, tiring but great. At least until the “trend” changed on social media. The clothes I begged my mom to buy me were no longer in style, the makeup changed, hairstyles changed. Now all of the things I “fixed” about myself  had to be adjusted once again. I fell down a beauty rabbit hole and I continued to fall, even through high school. 

By the time I reached my sophomore year of High School, my hair was fried, my skin was unhealthy, and my mental health was plummeting. I caked my face with makeup every day, shaved my body every night, and kept my hair done every month. I stopped drawing and writing. My new hobby became posting on Instagram before I left the house. I would exaggerate the way I spoke–embelleshing to be more attractive. That’s how all the popular kids had friends, so I mimicked them.

I was a puppet—my strings being pulled in every direction. Until, I finally tore.

 I broke. No matter how often I adjusted, I was never “good enough”. I changed so much, I became a stranger to myself. Depression leached onto me and my eyes were always swollen. I’d grieve my younger-self, the girl who smiled effortlessly. I consciously dimmed her light. 

I missed her deeply. I missed me. 

No matter how loud I cried, I never got an answer. Friends drifted away. I felt alone, sitting in a puddle of sorrow as I watched life fall apart. The person I had built finally crumbled. I stacked the blocks too high. 

After High School, I wanted to find myself again. I had to save myself since no one else would. So, I cut my hair—all of it. It was rejuvenating, removing all the dead and seeing my curls after so long. I made my socials private, removing those who never spoke to me. I closed doors that were never truly opened. I was alone, but for the first time, It felt like relief rather than abandonment. I spent time alone and I asked myself the questions I had been avoiding: “What do I want?”, “Who am I becoming?”, “How do I want to live my life?”. 

Each day was a stepping stone to reuniting with myself. I used makeup to highlight my features rather than bury them, I wore clothes that made me feel comfortable, not accepted. I started to write again. 

When I started to do things that I actually wanted to do, that’s when I ran into myself. She was always there, I was the one who left. The girl that loves to explore, loves to be outside, loves to read, loves to write, loves to dance and listen to jazz. The girl who laughs at everything, enjoys exploring philosophy, has empathy for wild animals, and gives her heart to those she loves. I’m so happy to know her, to meet her again. It felt like coming home. 

Being a teenager is hard. It’s even harder to be yourself when so much is expected. Insults can be unbearable—but names are simply that, they’re subjective. What one deems as copper, the other sees as gold. Don’t surround yourself with people who love lilies when you’re a rose. 

People come and go, but you are the only person you’re guaranteed to be with. Till death does you part. You can’t fill everyone’s cup— but you can fill your own, and you get to decide what you fill it with. 

So, get to know yourself. Forgive yourself. Enjoy your own company and draw on your scars. 

Pick up those colored-lenses again and keep them on this time.

 You deserve to see life in color.