The Pretty One

I've known my best friend for almost five years. She was the first person I had ever let in. The first person I told my secrets and who could be okay with...well me. I was new to Canada and high school and was struggling with depression and anxiety. And I wouldn't have truly met her had I not said something about Supernatural in the girl's locker room.

Now, the years after high school have been difficult. Especially, after she left for Palestine leaving me only to have my depression and anxiety kick up even more without my best friend. Before my last year of high school, I moved to another city. Leaving my senior year, a year I hoped was going to be amazing and fun, to be very uneventful and boring.

But when she decided to move back after graduation I couldn't have been more excited. Getting bunk beds, having family game nights and having movie nights even though she was taking grade 12 again to get more credits.

We even got jobs together.

Things started to change. For me, my depression and anxiety has just gotten worse but I'm too afraid to tell anyone how much worse it's gotten. Mainly because they'll all say something along the lines of "Things will get better." Never say that to someone with anxiety and is having panic attacksat least two times a week.

Now, my best friend has more friends all over the world. She talks them as much as possible. My best friend is actually happy and doesn't have to worry much about having a panic attack in the middle of a buffet restaurant because she's surrounded by people and is afraid everyone is looking at her. She's skinny and sporty. Now, I'm sporty but I'm nowhere near skinny. I'm a red and odd-looking. Out of the two of us, she's the pretty one. I'm not even on the spectrum of pretty and that sits on the back of my mind all day every day that she's just my friend for now and will one day stab me in the back because it's happened to me before. I've been stabbed in back plenty of times.

For three months since we've started work, I've had to watch as the cute guys at work or the cute guy dealing cards at our work party go out of their way to talk to her. Ask her out. Be with her. The cute card dealer from the work party even went out of his way to come to our store to get her number and ask her out. Not only that but the same day another guy from work asked her out.

The cute boys she ends up checking out items for end up flirting with her. The cute boys I end up checking out items for...can't wait to get away. I always end up getting hit on by the creepy old men and because if I want to keep my job I have to just smile and play it off.

Now, as her best friend and she's telling me about the guys who ask her out and the guys who keep hitting on her, at least that she's also into, I smile and I'm happy for her. Happy that she's happy. Because that what she is. Happy. She's a bright sprit and can make anyone happy with her smile. I pretend to be happy for her because she doesn't deserve to have my dark, gloomy self be mad at her for being happy. So I don't show her that it actually kind of hurts.

It's a good thing I'm an actor. An actor that can't get an acting job...and I think I know why.

I'm not the pretty one. I don't get asked out. I don't live somewhere for five months and have a lot of guys be interested with-in that short amount of time. I don't get asked outs on dates and I don't get boyfriends.

I get to have depression and dnxiety for the rest of my life and probably just live with a couple cats. That's my life...I'm not the pretty one.

I'm learning to be okay with it.