After completing the lab I am supposed to finish for Honors Chemistry and struggling through my Algebra II Trigonometry worksheet, I open my computer and absentmindedly stare at the cursor flashing on the blank screen.
Once my back starts aching from sitting in my uncomfortable desk chair, I shut my computer and flop onto my bed. I open my phone and swipe around before my thumb finally lands on Instagram.
The first thing I see is a girl standing in crystal clear water, smiling with perfect white teeth and beautiful, clear skin. There’s an ache in my stomach as I so badly want to escape from the boring routine I have here to a tropical island where I can frolic in the unbelievable water and enjoy the warm weather. A knock on my door brings me back to reality.
“Come in,” I say as my mom pops her head through the door.
“How was your day?” she asks.
“Good,” I lie with a sigh and a smile.
“Great. Dinner will be ready around 5:30 p.m..”
I swipe down on my phone and look at the time: 4:46 p.m..
“Thanks,” I whisper, watching her close the door.
Instead of returning to my homework, I re-enter my pretend world where I am good enough to be equivalent to one of these influencers. I mindlessly scroll through my feed, watching girl after girl with perfect bodies, wondering why I can not be like them.
“Why are you not eating anything?” my older sister asks at dinner, staring at me from across the table.
“I am not hungry,” I say.
“Not eating will not make you skinny,” she replies.
After dinner, I stand in front of the mirror, rubbing my hands over my ribs and pinching my extra skin. If only I could be as pretty as the girls on Instagram, maybe I would be just as happy as they are. Maybe then I would be the one with people looking up to me.
The next morning, I hear the annoying repetition of my phone at 5:30 a.m. I turn around under my purple comforter, the same one I have had since I was 10, and move around my hand until I find my phone, which is right beside my head.
I swipe the alarm off and open the tiny device to Instagram, scrolling once again through the countless girls sharing their perfection.
As I get ready for school, putting on pounds of makeup, hiding all the small imperfections that make me, me, I think about the kid I was six years ago; A child worried about when the next “Descendants” movie was coming out instead of reaching impossible expectations set by strangers on the internet.
I grab my keys from their designated spot on my desk, take a snack from the counter and walk out the door.
“Have a great day! I love you,” my mom says.
“Thank you. Love you too,” I reply, looking down at my shoes, reconsidering if they match my outfit rather than putting meaning behind my words.
I toss my keys up in the air as I walk down the slanted driveway to my car. Twice, I watch as the ring of keys flies in the air free and falls back into the grasp of my hand.
I press the smooth button and listen for the beep of my car indicating it’s unlocked. I climb into the small front seat and sit there thinking of the times my parents rushed me to school. I stick the key in the ignition and officially start my day full of fake smiles.
“What’s wrong?” my best friend asks.
“Nothing,” I promise her.
“You are glued to that phone, screenager,” she jokes.
“No, I’m not,” I stammer defensively, turning off my phone and tucking it halfway into my pocket.
“What’s wrong?” she smiles and adds, “and don’t say ‘nothing’.”
“I have been thinking a lot about when I was a kid and how much simpler it was. I feel like I have totally lost who I once was.”
“Well, as you get older, you change–”
“It is not about change. I know we change. It is more about the pressure I feel to be just as good as everyone around me,” I say, thinking it over in my head. “I know I’ll never be good enough no matter how hard I try,” I finished.
“What is making you feel like this?” my friend asks.
“People online who have perfect lives. The people who are able to go on vacations and be confident in themselves. I just want to be like that,” I confess.
“Those people are not real,” she says. “There is no perfect person who has a perfect life.”
She pauses before continuing.
“The people you’re referring to, the influencers, they curate what they post on social media to appeal to you. To make you feel like this. They want you to think they have a perfect life so you can escape from your not-so-perfect one.”
Then her voice softens.
“Don’t worry about them,” she says. “Remember that the little girl you were six years ago still lives inside of you.”
She looks at me carefully.
“Most importantly, remember that there are people around who love you and are so incredibly proud of you. I’m so proud of you,” she says.
“Thank you,” I reply, taking in every word she says.
“Promise me you’ll stop following the influencers who make you feel like this. Do it for that little 10-year-old inside of you somewhere,” she says.
“Okay,” I say.
When I get home, I open my computer and continue my essay, phone facing down right beside me. The buzzing of my phone draws me in, and I flip it over to see a notification from Instagram: “Tessa Ray is now live,” I read.
I open Instagram to her account, full of pictures of her trying her best to make herself look perfect. I hover over the unfollow button and click it, hearing my friend’s voice replay in my ears. I get up and move my phone to my bed.
I hear a knock, the same one that comes at this time every day. I tell my mom to come in.
“How was your day?” she asks like she always does.
“Good,” I reply, knowing that was the truth. I smile, the first real smile I have in a while.
This article was originally published in the Griffin Gazette: Insight magazine in a condensed version. You can read the magazine version here.
