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I think I may actually re-write this, but this is what I had before I stopped.
It hurts to watch the people you love so dearly to not realize you exist. Not that they think you’re dead or when you try to picture never being born… I mean when you are standing right across the hall from them, watching as they walk on past and, honestly, don’t know you’re there. It’s not because they hate you or because you did something wrong; you’ve never done anything to hurt them. There was no fight, no mistake, or anything of the sort. They just don’t know the real you.
I doubt you understand what I mean… It’s not that I’m two-faced or anything. I’m quite the opposite, actually. You see, I lead two completely different lives and they don’t know the real me. They don’t know that I’m really a shy girl at their school with no friends. They don’t know me as Savannah Wright, the weird, quiet girl in the corner who looks like she might cry if you say hello to her. They don’t know me as Savannah Wright, the girl who sits behind the dumpster at lunch with her tuna casserole and eggnog in the middle of February. My friends know me as Tristan Castoplus, the flamboyant and pansexual guy that they love and adore, but only get to see on the weekends because his work won’t allow him any other days off. They see him at the bar drinking soda because he’s still too young to drink anything else, but he loves the atmosphere. Never in their lives would they realize that Savannah Wright and Tristan Castoplus are the same people!