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It’s been a while. I don’t even know if anyone is still reading. V submitted this poem for school English assignment. When you are diagnosed with T1D and Celiac at 8, it becomes part of your identify. And when you are almost 16, you may develop an uncanny ability to beautifully articulate it. Without further ado, in her own words…

Which Girl Am I?

I often find myself wondering, who am I?

The question society has expected me to figure out before all of my teeth have even grown in. What do you want to do? What do you like? How would you describe yourself? Who are you? The word identity, twirling around my head.

But who really am I?

My world, filled with masks, smiles and pain.

“Your daughter has type one diabetes.”

“The endoscopy went well, however we’re so sorry to tell you it came back positive”

Here comes illness number two. A best friend for my diabetes, Celiac Disease.

“I’m sorry,” number one.

“I’m sorry,” number two.

“I’m sorry,” number three.

“I’m sorry,” number four.

“I’m sorry,” number five.

“I’m sorry,” number six.

“I’m sorry,” number seven.

The ‘I’m sorrys’ from the doctors, the diagnoses, the prescription medications never ending.

Is my identity the sick girl?

The girl who practically lives at the doctor’s office and hospital?

The girl with the legs full of scars or the loud beeping medical devices attached to her.

No. There is no way.

My life is so much more.

My identity is so much more.

I am so much more.

The girl who prides herself on knowing three languages. English, Russian,Spanish.

The girl who laughs until she cannot breathe every time she’s with her best friend.

The girl who does not refer to her friends by their names anymore, just the silly nicknames that have arisen from our countless years and memories. Vitch and Ayxch. Potato and Alfredo.

The girl with the weird catchphrases that never fail to make someone laugh. Cashmoney, saucy or the endless keyboard smashes instead of a basic laughing emoji.

Is the girl who never fails to make anyone laugh or feel loved and appreciated the same girl as the one whose diaries are filled with pages of hurt and anger.

The girl who pulls out Matthew Gray Gubler’s, “100 reasons to live” paper to remind herself that one day things will change.

To remind myself I deserve to live.

Maybe one day I will be “normal.”

Because the masks I wear are my identity just as much as the bare face underneath.
The way I present myself, my image, my persona that is displayed to the public is just as much me as the tears that get wiped away late at night as everyone else sleeps.
There is no way the same girl who has sleepovers with her brother after a scary episode of criminal minds is the same girl that was forced to grow up and face the harsh realities of life within the walls of a doctors office instead of birthday sleepovers and parties.
The resentment, the hurt, the questioning, if there is a god, why me?
I was eight.
I was and still am a child.
Eight years old. Not even allowed to watch spongebob yet. What did I do to deserve this? Nothing. “Things happen for a reason,” that is what all the adults say.
But what is the reason?
The reason for the sleepless nights?
The reason for the painful treatment?
The reason for the unjust resentment in the world?
There is no reason, it simply is.
But I cannot let myself lose this other girl.
The girl who sings disney songs like there is no tomorrow.
The girl who dances in circles every day.
The girl who gets up and gives her all, even when her all looks different.
The girl who at her core, knows her worth, even if it takes some time to believe it.
I can tell you with certainty, the girl in sixth grade who wore cat leggings and shirts that said DabCat with crazy patterns because they made her happy is surely not the girl who follows the fashion trends now, scared to disappoint or to not “fit in”.
But that is okay.
It is ok to need to watch Lili Reinharts 10 minute speech about body positivity and acceptance to remind myself that my body is beautiful, my body deserves respect and my body is as healthy as it can be.
It is ok for me to need reminders.
Especially in the world I live in today.
A world in which nobody can be perfect.
The girl who was dying, sick, skin and bones.
Told she was beautiful.
Told it’s good to lose the pounds.
That is not the girl I see when I look in the mirror.
The girl who now, seven years later, is shamed for her jeans size.
“Eat a salad, go on a run, you’re a competitive swimmer, how are you not skinny?”
In a world today where skinny seems to mean healthy.
“Eat less. Run more. ​You are not good enough​.”
But oh? Why are you sad? Why are you self conscious?

And if those two girls are the same? Then which one is MY identity?

“You have a perfect life”

Is it Ok to be sad? I have everything I need and so much of what I want.

Of course it is, I hope.

That shame, the anxiety, that resides in me, but it is not me.

I am strong.
I am a good person.
I am enthusiastic.

I am sympathetic.
I am beautiful.

I am worthy.
I always have it in my heart to forgive.
So which girl am I?

The girl with the messy room and the battle going on inside her head?

Or the girl with a smile on her face, ready to face the world?
I am both.
My identity, too complex to pick a single side.
My identity is with me, forever growing and forever changing.