Sophie Wheeler - Aged 14

Teenage girl vs modern world

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There she lay on her bed, the bed that screams when she sits, her ‘vogue’ filled walls, and her magazine covered ceiling telling her to fit fit fit. But fitting in isn’t so easy, not when you’re not deemed normal for society. There she lay on her bed scrolling on her phone, the phone that tells her what normal is, the phone that feeds her lies, the phone that makes her ask herself why oh why? Why don’t I look like other girls? Why do I wear t-shirts and they were crop tops? Why is my stomach fat and not flat? Why, oh why do I have acne but not a blemish lands on their porcelain skin? There she lay on her silk clad bed, clouded in her thoughts wondering why oh why does seeing me make me want to cry.

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As she rushes through the crowded corridors of her overpopulated school and brushes the shoulders of her classmates, she frets that said classmate’s laughs are about her. Her heart beats so loud she can hear it, time feels like it slowing down, anxiety rises in her, the laughs grow louder, her breath is leaving her lungs, everything is- *ringgg* the screeching sound of the school bell goes, signalling class is about to start. Everything is back to normal pace, it’s like nothing ever happened, she questions if she’s dreaming but the remains of anxiety pooling in the bottom of her assures her that she’s not.

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Back in her pink filled room she gets ready to go out for dinner. Standing in front of her oak laced full length mirror she stares at the dress she’s wearing. The way the soft, midnight blue material clings to her waist and how it stops just below the gashes of her only release.

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Sitting at the horseshoe shaped, red leather booth with the rest of her family, she glares at the menu trying not to look at the numbers that define what she can eat. Her mind rambles on what she should get. Pasta? No, too many carbs. Burger and chips? No, too much salt. Salad? Healthy but too obvious. Chicken and fries? Perfect. She tells herself these lies, knowing deep down she won’t touch the fries.

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Sitting at the white wooden desk in her room, she swivels round and round on the grey office chair trying to match the pace of her mind. She stops to gaze through her window. It’s mid-afternoon and the sun is nowhere to be seen. It’s raining hard and the droplets are landing on her window begging for it to be clean. She doesn’t believe in the saying ‘there’s a rainbow after every storm’ because she’s in her own storm and there’s no rainbow about to form.

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There she lay on her bed, listening to the yells. Not the yells in her head but the cries of her parents. They scream and shout, she cries and pouts. There she lay on her bed, the bed that screams when she sits, as she writes in her diary, she asks herself, is it worth it? The screams and shouts, the tears, and doubts. The scales and wails, the love that pales.

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As she lay in her bed, she asks herself, should I fight, or should I flight? She wonders if she would be missed. If they would care or have despair. So, will she or will she not? Will you care and be there? Or will you shove it aside and not be by her side.

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Now who is she exactly? She is Lola. She is Lola and Stacy. She is Lola, Stacy, and Anna. She is Lola, Stacy, Anna, Chloe, Ellie, Aria, Zoe, Lily, Sarah, Molly, Amy, Emily, Poppy, Claire, and Lizzie. She is 30% of teenage girls that ask themselves that question. Fight or flight? Stay and pray? Live or give?

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 So, what she does can be up to you. Will you stand by, or will you act?