I have my parents, my friends, my parents extended social circle, and even my grandparents. But none of them really know me. I wish they did.

Not even my therapist knows me.

Everywhere I go, I wear a false face and it makes my life a farce.

My makeup and dress are my armor.

Thousand dollar shoes. Two thousand dollar bags. Three thousand dollar dresses.

My closet is as big as most one-bedroom apartments in New York City. I can buy anything and therefore, I want nothing.

My therapist thinks that I’m depressed. She diagnosed me with anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder and prescribed meds that I don’t want to take. Maybe I am depressed. But who wouldn’t be? I’m in my mid-twenties and I can be anything I want. The only problem is that I don’t want to do anything.

During the year I stay busy by going to school. The classes give me some structure to the day.

I take four each semester and between that, studying, the gym, and the weekly spa session, I manage to stay busy enough to forget how bored I am.

On the weekends, my girlfriends, the ones working sixty hours a week at non-paying internships for famous designers, artists, and gallery owners insist that I pull myself away from my books and my boring grad-school “friends” and hang with them instead. Their parties are usually two-day affairs that require helicopter rides and mansions in far-flung places. It’s the stuff of dreams, or in my case, nightmares.

They say friends using quotation marks because they know that those people are not really my friends at all. They're just people I know. What my other friends don’t know, however, is that they aren’t really my friends either. They are just people I have known longer.

This guy with his hazel eyes, casual smile, and cheap clothes probably thinks the same thing of me as everyone else. That I’m just a spoiled little girl who has had everything handed to her, that I have never worked hard for anything, and I will never deserve anything I have.

I don’t blame him. A part of me thinks the same way. What else can you think? My father owns a media empire and has dominated New York society ever since he came onto the scene in the 1980s. He owns hundreds of buildings and homes in New York and around the world. He’s someone every businessman wants to be but can’t because he will never step down.

I’m his oldest child and he wants to groom me to take over, but I know that that will never happen. He is not the type to retire. He’s not the type to fade away. Besides, I have no interest in running an empire. I want to carve out my own place in this world, what that is exactly I do not know yet.