April 6, 2002
Fuck
You know what? I. Give. Up. I give up. You think I'm fucking being morose and melodramatic, so what if I am. It doesn't matter. Nothing ever matters, at least not in my life.
When bad things happen to me, I try to learn from them. I make myself better by rationalizing, by realizing that everything is a learning experience and one day I will benefit from the crisis that pock mark my existence.
But the same thing happens to me over and over. In the same way. What can I learn from being shot down after trying to be honest with someone? What more can I learn about myself beyond the fact that I never have, nor ever will, be good enough? That I, Jillian Black, is what no boy alive wants? None. They just don't.
Sure, you say, Ryan loved you. Maybe he did. But Ryan ignored me. Ryan was a joke. Ryan knew half of Jillian, nay, a quarter of Jillian, because that was all he chose to see. Ryan was in love with a different person.
I know I am an attractive girl. I am intelligent, I am talented, I am interesting and kind. I'm not confident. I never have been. And it's because fucks like Alex and Eric and Eric and Erik and Justin and Greg and Adam and Ryan and Jared and Dan and Josh and now Brandon have never once given me a chance. Perhaps I didn't have that certain fucking sparkle in my eye. Perhaps my fucking breasts weren't big enough.
I. Don't. Care. Anymore.
They can all fuck off. I am tired of feeling so dramatically about worthless pieces of shit and the only thing ever coming of it is me realizing that I really can't be any better for looking their way. Sure. I'm only nineteen years old. Sure. This happens to everyone.
Well, it's happened to me one too many times. It's happened to me the last time. I don't think it's really been fucking necessary for my whole entire fucking adolescent sentient life to be one of disgust. Because, fucking apparently, I am disgusting.
If only I would have known sooner, I could have stopped fucking caring about my appearance and my personality. At least then my fucking head could justify it.
Fuck Romance. It doesn't fucking exist. Not for me. Likely not for fucking anyone.
Except fucking big breasted fucking models. Who can't fucking read.
astera at 10:10 p.m.