I woke up in Richmond after having a night of fun and soul-searching at Christina's 18th birthday party, where I wore earmuffs all night long. And where Stefan refused to accompany me to. That's ok, if he was there I wouldn't have gotten up and used the pool-stick as a microphone and belted out Olive's "You're Not Alone" while dancing as though I had epilepsy. That felt so good. That's such a good song. But it's bad for me. Tiffany told me I should look into being a singer cos I had a good voice. I was flattered and reminded of the days when all I did was sing Karaoke and dream of sending in one of my stupid tapes to a record company so that they could probably reject it.
Janette once told me that the pain of her life was never being anyone's first priority. She said that Mat and Arik never asked HER to be a back-up singer in their band, she said that she didn't have a friend who would call her up and choose her no matter what. I suffer the same. My best friend and I rarely see each other if at all, even though we both drive and go to the same school. I am the last picked for the kickball team. I am the last partnered up for tests and projects.
And I want to get off my medication because I don't want to go through life like a junkie. Having to take drugs to feel like a normal person.
When I woke up this morning I felt like I was going to vomit. Dare I try to stomach something? I think not. Maybe I'll just let my overweight body eat itself and the high school boys will finally think I am semi-attractive.
If it is not perfectly clear, I must make it so. I hate myself. I've hated myself since I was nine years old and I doubt it will change any time soon. If I saw myself walking down the street, I would kill me, because I deserve it. I hate my face, I hate my mind, I hate my body, I hate my soul, I hate myself.
I need to get the fuck out before I go crazy.
I want to go the theatre and forget my life for two and a half hours and watch Alan Rickman be creepy.
If I can find some money.
Maybe I should just drive into the crest wearing all red or blue until some gangsta comes and shoots me for representin'.
Brothas shootin' each otha ovah colours.