fuck your fucking description

Indeed she is. And indeed you will. Wednesday sounds cool. Kris isn’t coming. I think he’s visiting after I get back. As if I didn’t feel enough like shit today. No Angelica much this summer? That sucks. Maybe next? Maybe. I probably sound dispirited. I just got home from a rather depressing adventure to the store. As usual, I’ve never felt worse about looking so grotesque. Except every other time I’ve been to the store for something that a small malaysian child has made, which always caters to the popular, anorexic majority, that does not include me. Things that I will never be comfortable in. Things that I think must be the work of a blind seamstress who always sews in proportions that should never be worn. That is most likely why we always see other peoples ass cheeks, breasts, pelvic bones, and pubic hair. Most unpleasant. It’s time to write something to myself now so that I’ll feel better sometime within the next two months. I wonder if it will work. Can’t wait to see Babette and everybody. Until Wednesday.

I wonder if anyone can tell somethings wrong.
It’s not as if they’re going to run to my fucking rescue anyway.

Anyone who reads this…… or knows me… whatever. Is probably wondering wtf is up with my pathetic whiny ass. Shopping lowers my self esteem. When it comes to clothing of any kind. Which is dangerous, because my self-esteem is already critically low. Simply because I effectively look like shit.

As you could probably fucking guess, going shopping isn’t the best thing to do in the middle of a manic depression thats bordering on a complete mental meltdown and a half. But my aunt insists. I must swim with them. Them being my sister and her friend, possibly Peggy, and probably my aunt. But I don’t want to swim. I don’t even want to be around my sister or her friend or my aunt or Peggy right now. I feel like shit. Don’t take me out of my comfortable environment, and away from all of my friends which are the only support I have in my life, when I feel like this kind of shit. And yet again I feel just like it seems…

nobody fucking cares.

I had a dream about a piece of paper that my aunt needed me to get a phone number off of today. That is, she needed it today, and I had the dream today. While we were listening to Radiohead and waiting for Poptart, Katie and I fell asleep. And I had a dream about that paper. I had a dream that I had found it and in fact had not given it to Mrs Holford at the social security office.

God I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here. I want to work on web pages or e-mail somebody, or sleep. I want to be around my friends. I want to be able to run off somewhere and have fun and forget for a little while that I hate myself so much. And I want to forget that I feel so fucking alone. I’m bridging on crying. That’s just great. Something else to make me feel like shit. My face gets to contort into all sorts of interesting new designs not yet describable by words. And then my face gets to hurt for the entire night and my eyes will burn and I’ll think about how people used to tell me how pretty my eyes were. And I’ll get to think about how nobody tells me that anymore. There’s nothing pretty about me. I stopped looking in the mirror. I know it’s just going to show me something I don’t want to see. Namely, myself.

As I was in the store tonight I was attempting to archive my thoughts to save for later expression. This is about all I can dredg up now that my brain is all foggy. God why the fuck can’t they make anything for someone who’s not a fucking twig. And why the fuck are you standing outside of the dressing room door? Fuck you lady. You’re not paid to do that. You’re paid to work at wal-mart and help kill the national economy. Not to put me in dressing room 1 where I am going to feel as if I am being watched from every corner and where I know I am going to be watched by you because I am sixteen and I have a ring in my lip. So fuck you. And get the fuck away from this door before I attempt to knock it off of its hinges so that it will fall over on your fat ass. I even tried to smile at you when I first came here so that I might feel less like shit. You could have at least pretended to fucking smile back you bitch. You’re lucky I don’t know where you live, god damnit. I look like shit in all of this shit. Of course, I knew I would. I wish I was brave like Kre or Brooke or Katie or even Geri. Or had some kind of their self-esteem. It’s not a secret and I don’t want it to be, I just don’t ever come out and tell people that I respect them for being how brave they are and how cool they are when everybody else sucks ass and dick at the same time in somebody’s basement. Kre and Brooke have bravery. Katie has that kind of high self esteem shit going on when it comes to things like this. Hell, so does Geri. Probably because they have things to be valued to this fucked up mental hospital where nobody wears the straight jackets they’re supposed to of a world. And the fucking society in it. But they will never be perfect, no they won’t. Because nobody will ever be good enough for society. But they have things that society values. But society will never know how cool they are. Or how much fun they are. Or how smart they are. So fuck you society. And fuck you society for making me feel like shit about myself. Just fuck you fuck you fuck you. Your society is fucked. Really fucked. Especially fucked for not being able to accept difference when all of what makes up this fucking world is diversity. We wouldn’t be hell shit without diversity. And fuck society for not being able to recognize the greatest people in the world when they see them.

Someone suggested I go into a kind of mental therapy. I don’t know if they meant going in it to get therapy, or becoming someone who gives it to someone else. With how I feel right now I feel like it should be the first. Although I’d rather do the latter. I told everybody, and in turn, everybody turned their backs on me. If I felt anymore alone right now I would just break down and cry. But thats not anybody elses problem, now, is it.

God. Can’t someone just give me a fucking hug and tell me everythings alright?

~ by Ashlee on July 12, 2004.

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