The little girl

En slags dagbog/biografi/fortælling jeg skrev for et stykke tid siden


1. The little girl

I’d like to tell you a story. A story about a little girl who grew up with a heart that was more fragile than a balloon.

In kindergarten she was the happiest kid, always playing around at the playground and always behind the plot of the game everyone wanted to play. She was bright and cheerful. But it didn’t last forever; she had to start school. At the age of 5 she was at her new school at her very first day. Her best friend from kindergarten, Marie was in the same class as her. Now, you see, the little girl was used to feeling safe, she felt secure back in kindergarten – knew every face, every little corner and every leave of every tree. In her first day she and the other students had to present themselves, just say a couple of words. Everyone spoke, talked for long and laughed while they did. But the little girl she didn’t say anything, she was scared. When it was her turn she started crying. Everyone was looking at her, but she couldn’t get a word out – not in front of all of them. The teacher took her hand, asked her if she was nervous, and the little girl nodded. So they continued while the little girl watched but did not speak, like a wallflower.


The next day at school the kids were paired up to talk about themselves and what they would like to learn while in school. But the little girl wasn’t paired up with Marie, the only person at school she could talk with, and she broke down crying again. It was like she was blocked and couldn’t speak, no word could get out. She was so ashamed and embarrassed she couldn’t stop crying, even both of the teachers couldn’t calm her down.

What was going on? She could talk and play the silliest games with Marie, she could laugh and joke around at home with her parents, but in school she shut down.

As the years went on she quickly learned how to read and write. She was still as quiet in school and the teachers kept telling her parents that she had to speak. Only more expectations and pressure was to come. But the little girl was scared. No matter how old she got she was still as fragile as a little girl.


How is she now? She’s in front of the screen writing this. She has a depression, an eating disorder, she self-harms and she’s lonely.

Because, you see, the little girl was and still is: me.

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