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Allie Rones

Ms. Gardner
English 10, Period 2
23 January 2014

Its All in Your Head

I dont know how to start off my essay... I sigh. My sleep-deprived eyes grope at the
screen and Skype for answers, my significant other on the opposite end of my call, eager to
Why dont you start with something poetic? I sigh, the idea itself a familiar one.
I cant poetry I complain softly, silently cursing my moronic mind for its lack of
poetic justice. Just another flaw. One can barely fathom that an object only two fists in size could
contain so many of them, but then again, the human brain is hardly an ordinary object. It bestows
our bodies with the gifts of animation, emotion, and life, the vitalities of human existence. An
entity bearing such a crucial purpose couldnt be anything less than perfect, right? In essence, I
suppose thats correct. The brain is perfect, a perfect puppet master, stringing us through this life
with its veiny cords and higher knowledge. I grew up trusting this invisible monarch, praising it
for my countless years of exceptional grades and praise of adults and peers alike. It was not until
later in my life, however, that I learned the dark secrets of the master lurking in my head.
Allie youre so perfect, has always been a popular phrase in my life, at least since I
could comprehend the words. What else could a child have wanted to hear growing up? Talk
about a major confidence booster, right? At the time, perhaps; after all, all I wanted was to follow
in my big brothers footsteps, the genius of the family. My young head housed an apprentice
mind, seeking a mentor, Jordan being the perfect candidate. Too bad it wasnt meant to be.

Jordan failed to turn in an assignment; my mother failed to keep her cool. A chorus of What
were you thinking?! accompanied by a cacophonous counter-melody of thunderous banging
was all that greeted my ears. The question that rattled the halls of 1043 Mark Drive that day had
a clear answer, at least to me. He wasnt thinking. Without knowing it, he had passed that torch
off to me. It was my turn to think. My turn to be perfect. Hopefully my mind had learned
enough from its mentor to take up the challenge.
Flash forward to August, 2013, at fair Casa Grande where we lay our scene. Fourteen
years of my minds benevolent guidance had lead me to my freshman year; little did I know that
was soon to end. I quickly found that juggling startling mounds of homework, friends, and my
own insecurities in the vain attempt to remain perfect proved a task to arduous to handle, but
my brain persisted. Soon came the uncontrollable depression and guilt. My once pure mental
guide, the puppet master of my existence became more reminiscent of that from Five Nights at
Freddys 2, plaguing me with deadly hallucinations, paranoia, and unbearable psychological
Its all in your head, my mom would say, blind to the scars my mind constantly
inflicted on my soul. You just have to think positively.
Its not that simple I would mumble, invisible strings dragging me away on numb
legs. Its all in my head, huh? Little did Alicia Rones know how accurate that statement really
was. However, a truly skilled manipulator knows when to bait their victim, as I would soon
January, 2014: a new student joins the band. My mind and his quickly collaborate,
conjuring up a divine plan to steal my heart, and oh did it work. My minds master wasted no
time in convincing my fragile heart that I had found love, casting a brilliant veil over his blatant

abuse, which left me more broken than before. Yet my thoughts still clung to the vain hope that
he would never hurt me. My friends gradually disappeared from my side, leaving me all alone, at
the mercy of the voice inside my head that goaded me to die. Funny, how the organ responsible
for granting conscious life should lead one to thoughts of death. Turns out my new boyfriend was
plagued by the same voice. However, it wasnt until the Disneyland band trip that he acted upon
it. His phone call left me panic-stricken, crying for what felt like hours, each tear a fragment of
my once brilliant, collected consciousness that had been shattered and lost, my Stitch pillow pet,
my only comfort. Hmm, I wonder if Stitchs journey from near insanity was as painful as mine.
Whos to say?
We broke up after the incident, the thought of his potential suicide weighing on my
conscious, but I couldnt do it anymore, it had to end. So much for being perfect. One could
almost hear the puppet masters insidious laugh in the background.
My depression was at its peak, my minds tormentor offering my weary soul no rest as
freshman year approached its end, for the struggle to remain perfect still weighed heavily
upon me. I had never felt more strongly that the voice in my head spoke the truth: youre
worthless, hopeless, meaningless, and no one loves you. It was all true, or so I thought. Then I
met Miranda.
My sexuality is not so much a secret so much as not anyones business, therefore I wont
delve into it more than saying gender does not matter to me in the realm of love. That being said,
it wasnt too shocking when I fell helplessly for the incredibly vibrant, blue-haired, blue-eyed,
pokemon master Mandy. She was the only person who had been able to patch up the holes in my
heart and mind, the only person who made me truly happy, and the only person who made me

excited to live. The day she asked me to be hers remains to be the best day of my life. I could be
happy again, or so I thought. The puppet master soon struck again.
Oh its just a phase, they said. It wont last, shes just experimenting, they said. The
words of my relatives goaded the voice, and in turn, me. Why wouldnt they accept me? Was
there something wrong with me? Am I not allowed to be loved? To be happy? I felt unwelcome
in my own home, and it terrified me. I found myself right in the puppet masters trap, thinking
that maybe Im just not worth loving. It would be better if I just went away. But then, in the
midst of my dark cloud I glanced back at my Skype call, and the stunning azure-haired nerd that
I got to call my girlfriend, and suddenly the sun abolished the darkness. Who cared if the others
didnt accept the real me? Why should I care, when there is a beautiful soul sitting right in front
of me who loves me, inside and out, for me. Not some facade I pranced about with my whole
life, that perfect me. It was that moment when the puppet master lost its grip, and I was free.
Sure, my mind continues to struggle now and again with the ever-threatening presence of
the puppet master within me, for my depression recurs now and again and the struggle to be
perfect remains unabolished, but none of that truly matters, for when I look into my
girlfriends loving eyes I know who I truly am. My flaws, my insecurities, my mistakes, theyre
all in my head. And that is where they will stay.