I wish I was like Mirelle, I told Hashem, that night. Why am I me and not her? But it was unrealistic, I knew. I’d never be like you

As told to Devorah Grant

Dear Mirelle,

IT’Sten years since I started high school, with an eagerness in my step and a new headband to match my new uniform. I was a quiet kid, leaving all my friends to go to a different school, one that was ostensibly right for me. It didn’t take long for me to doubt that.

From the beginning, school was a challenge. I struggled to keep myself organized. It was challenging having classes in different classrooms. I battled with my short attention span, and the long days of note-taking made my hands cramp. But more than anything, I struggled socially. This class was different from my elementary school class, who had been warm and welcoming. I’d never been short of friends before. But here, in my new school, there were different rules. I didn’t know that my headband was way out of fashion until the class bully told me openly — in front of a large crowd. I didn’t know how to talk, how to act, and certainly not how to dress.

It didn’t take long for me to feel like a total failure, branded by my inability to keep up with the ever-changing trends and evolving language of my classmates. Wherever I went, I faced rejection, as time after time I was left alone, at recess, on Sundays, on class trips.

But you were different.