You see that girl? Yeah, her. The one with the laughter sparkling in her eyes as she headbangs to incredibly loud music still audible through the headphones. She’s having an amazing time, screaming along with Oli, Gerard and Andy alike. You see her in class. Most of the time, excited, bubbly, incredibly awkward and is not afraid to express herself. You stand by and watch her get backed against the wall, threats and insults hurled at her on every side. On the outside she stands tall and turns the other cheek.

“Judge me all you want, we’re all the same with our eyes closed.”

She’s different, weird. But she’s confident in herself. She stands up for herself and others, and she’s not afraid to voice what she believes in. It looks like her life is perfect.

But you don’t see the scars.

You don’t see the tears.

You don’t see the secrets she desperately hides.

You don’t see the lies she says so easily.

You don’t know the torture she endures.

The screaming matches.

The depression.

The hopelessness.

The pain.

You don’t see the scars.