"Always nice, kind, or understanding. Polite. Attentive. A shoulder to cry on. I like to think that these are the qualities, my outer qualities, that I project to the world. But that’s the one half. The other is me: the hidden, the denied, the ‘evil’ twin. While my twin is more upbeat, and optimistic, I’m cynical and devious. When people come to my other, whining about their problems, their lack of a boyfriend/girlfriend, and all their other supposed ‘misfortunes’, she listens and gives advice, and I fume and mumble under my breath about how idiotic it is for someone to get worked up over something so small, and insignificant, and I just want to slap some sense into them and scream that they are not the only ones with problems. My outer, more dominant me, holds her tongue and rarely talks back in condescending tones, while I devise a list of words that I would love to say to whomever they are for. But, no. Those words are blocked by that mental filter so only the decent, polite phrases, and the carefully worded oppositions are brought forth and spoken. At least I know who I am. My twin, as she acts aloof of the societal standards and shows little attention to the trends and pretends that she is humble, knows that I’m here and I am among those people whom she labels as shallow. I care about appearances, though she says that she doesn’t take notice. I worry about every single move I make and question my decisions , while she claims ‘what’s done is done’. I am always aware of my flaws and would rather reject them, while she claims she accepts them and they make her who she is. I’m the blind side, the unseen, the unwanted, and she does her best to suppress me, though I will slowly make myself known. We can find compromise, we can find balance, in being the right amount of optimistic and pessimistic, of caring and annoyance, of depth and shallowness, of light and dark. That’s what makes us two one human being with thoughts feelings and opinions that are meant to be had and are allowed to be said, and will be heard.
And though I believe all of this, and she knows all of this, I cannot help but give her credit for how she has grown and accepted herself. While I am her flaws, all bundled and shoved under the bed, she slowly picks at me to mend me, expose me. That is the process of growing.”