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wanted to be liked and feel safe. But there didn’t seem to be any hope of that happening, and without hope my sadness turned into a depression that led me to try to change everything about myself.
    Controlled by my fear and my now deeply ingrained insecurities, I made a dramatic decision to turn into the girl that I thought others wanted me to be, not the girl that I was. I began to cover up my authentic, kind nature with a new “I don’t give a crap” attitude. And my warm and loving heart quickly grew cold, turning away from feelings of playfulness, affection, and compassion and toward cynicism and belligerence. The pain, humiliation, and fear drove me to become someone other than who I was. I created an outer shell that would protect me and yet separate me from my inner truth. But it was a price I was willing to pay. I no longer would have access to the real me as I became a self-hater who lost the courage to feel her emotions or be seen as she was.
    By thirteen, I had started hanging out with the “wrong crowd.” Drugs were becoming popular, and I quickly discovered that they gave me the confidence I was looking for. I had finally found a quick solution for how bad I felt inside. Drugs changed everything, because they gave me a boldness and a bravery that were beyond anything I had ever wished for. I started to learn that being a badass with a nasty mouth kept people from walking all over me. My family couldn’t stand the new me, but it was working for the most part, and I even had some friends who liked me. The great cover-up was convincing, and after some time I forgot that this was just a mask I was hiding behind. I worked diligently to find new and better tricks to hide my insecurities—wearing the right clothes (even if they were the cheaper-version knock-offs) and hanging out with the tough girls (even if they were considered bad). It made sense to me: if I could hang with the tough girls, they would protect me from the even meaner girls. But I knew I could never expose my real feelings to them or I would be shunned once again. The petrified little Scaredy Cat still lay beneath the surface of my new, puffed-up persona. I developed a real Tough Cookie act, quickly adding boyfriends and anything else that might make me look cool and hide my pain. I worked on this self-image day and night. But when I was alone, without a belly full of drugs or a boy I believed loved me, I was still filled with a fear that never subsided. But at least it didn’t strangle me anymore.
    As I grew into a young adult, my awkwardness disappeared. I began taking even greater risks with the help of a few pills, some stylish clothes, and whatever else I could find to give me the courage to go after my dreams. Money became an important commodity, because it allowed me to buy nicer things. I went to work in a clothing store, where I thrived and found that I had a talent for fashion and merchandising, and I loved it. When I was picking out clothes and styling a customer, I felt authentically confident, proud, and strong—three feelings I hardly recognized. Each day was exciting, and I couldn’t wait to go home and tell whoever would listen about the great sales I had made and the cool outfits I had put together. I even developed a close friendship via telephone with one of the male store managers. Although we hadn’t met in person, I somehow felt like we were destined to be together. When we finally did meet, for our first date, it was love at first sight. For months we were together every moment we weren’t working. I loved him, my family loved him, and he seemed to be the kindest guy any of us had ever met.
    Then at eighteen, with my confidence stronger than it had ever been in my life, I found out that my first love had cheated on me. Shocked and brokenhearted again, I now felt ashamed and wounded instead of strong and secure. All of the confidence I had built up seemed to evaporate. In seconds, my new self-image was shattered, and