upside down head
perceptions
scarletrose2
Fickled
Invisibledon
Invisiblepal
Carlilly
Kieri
breakfust
Sammi1285
luv4you
Lilsnowpixie
londncalling
tulipbaroo
sailorpallas
pink-milk
clueless1285
Wonderwall
Franniboo
Gloamling
xxcobrasxx
trickykid
Sammit1285
soverycherry
kopa
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castleofsand
st0nered
delta88
starsrmylfe
beefspleen
Falla
pickles47
Localaura
interexile
classcouture
Trendyflat
flyanyway
montparnasse
Ship-whore
haircutgirl
chickie-legs
<- Thursday, Apr. 10, 2008 | 3:27 p.m. ->





-

Today I passed by this girl who Iíve invested a lot of energy in hating recently.

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, letís get real here, I just wasnít 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 donít 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 thatís that I never actually wanted to be her, which always made hating her more difficult. The truth of the matter is, as much as Iíve ďwanted to be herĒ I actually never have. Iíve never wanted to be blond. Iíve never really wanted to be a varsity cheerleader. Iíve 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. Iíve never actually wanted to be a stoner Ė I donít like my life mediated in that way. Maybe I could hate this girl more if I felt more really that sheíd usurped something of mine. But the truth is, as I took a good look at myself, that Iím kind of the person I always wanted to be.

I really like how nerdy I am. I like that Iím the girl in chucks and funny pants and a peasant top, even though she looks slamminí in a bikini. I never actually wanted to be the girl in the bikini Ė I always wanted to be the girl in the chucks who the hero realizes heís 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. Iím 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 Iíve ever seen, sheís kind of the proof of why I like me. At the end of the day, Iím 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 canít write about. To that I say only: weíre attempting to regain control. Iím glad she told me. One in four arenít lying. But weíll get through.

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