As we stood side-by- side getting ready to go to the pool, he felt confident and I felt frustrated. I was frustrated about whether or not to wear my super nerdy rash guard or expose my enormous scar to the world. I was frustrated with myself for being jealous that he didn’t have to experience what I did. I was frustrated knowing that people’s worried eyes would be on me when I dove into a pool because they feared I would get hurt. And most of all, I was frustrated by the fact that we were not the same; something I had always pictured being a twin would mean. I did everything I could possibly do to be more like him. I ate carrots every day for five months straight with the aspirations of correcting my vision, and I stretched constantly in an
