I tried to hate her, honest. I even thought lots of new and creative hateful thoughts in her direction, scanned the premises for accessories to a violent fantasy, and wondered what it would be like to slam her face into the concrete using her flowing long blond hair as a handle. But, let�s get real here, I just wasn�t that into it. There was no paniced rush of adrenaline, no surge of HULK SMASH-esque power. Hating her felt boring. For once, it felt as fake as it was because the truth of the matter is that I don�t hate her, and never hated her, and hating her was a proxy for feeling other things which were more difficult but I seem to have gone on dealing with feeling anyway.

I realized something, as I looked and un-hated this girl, and that�s that I never actually wanted to be her, which always made hating her more difficult. The truth of the matter is, as much as I�ve �wanted to be her� I actually never have. I�ve never wanted to be blond. I�ve never really wanted to be a varsity cheerleader. I�ve always wanted her body, but also wanted to claim something closer to mine as my triumphant war-wound, my proof of having Lived life in the Real World. I�ve never actually wanted to be a stoner � I don�t like my life mediated in that way. Maybe I could hate this girl more if I felt more really that she�d usurped something of mine. But the truth is, as I took a good look at myself, that I�m kind of the person I always wanted to be.

I really like how nerdy I am. I like that I�m the girl in chucks and funny pants and a peasant top, even though she looks slammin� in a bikini. I never actually wanted to be the girl in the bikini � I always wanted to be the girl in the chucks who the hero realizes he�s loved all along. I like how busy I am. I like all the things I do. I like the frenetic pace at which I live sometimes, it makes me feel important. I�m pretty close, a lot of the time, to the Me that I set out to be.

How weird is that?

How weird is it that, though I claim no particular feelings of high self esteem right now, and though this girl is quite possibly one of the most beautiful I�ve ever seen, she�s kind of the proof of why I like me. At the end of the day, I�m not such a bad place to be.

All of this, this feeling of not feeling, is probably tied to other, heavier things. Things which are scary and not mine and I can�t write about. To that I say only: we�re attempting to regain control. I�m glad she told me. One in four aren�t lying. But we�ll get through.

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