I’m not a girl who deserves to be taken seriously. I fuck up and turn
it into self-pity. I’m “fun”, or a “good girl” (tho that second one is
increasingly debatable) but, I don’t deserve to be taken seriously.
And it’s my own fault. Because I’m not domestic and can’t cook or
clean. Because I’m careless, and thoughtless, and self-involved.
Because I lack direction and purpose. Because I send late night
passive-aggressive text messages. Because I can’t let things go.
Because if I have kids they’ll be weird little freaks like I was and
no one will like them, because I’m just too weird to have any hope of
teaching someone what normal looks like. Because I have poor judgment
and lack direction. Because I lie. Because I’m inconsistent and too
often inconsolable. Because I’m too hard on myself, but really I’m not
hard enough. And I eat too much, and cuss too much, and act too crazy.
And when I look at myself, I just don’t see anything worth loving
there. Things worth liking maybe. But nothing irreplaceable, nothing
all that special. And I just fuck things up with a frightening
consistency. And sometimes I see things coming and don’t stop it
anyway. Because I’m lazy, or stupid, or just too fucking ordinary. And
how can I ever take care of anyone else when I’m a fucking train-wreck.
And how can I have a normal relationship when I don’t know what it
And, I overreact to things, and that’s probably what this is. But that
just makes me worse, because I can’t even figure out what to be upset
about and what to let roll off my back. And maybe I just need to shut
the hell up.