i found my diary from eleventh grade, excerpt from october

I DON'T THINK I HAVE CHANGED AT ALL.


I’m not perfect. I can be too mean. I can be sharp and my wit is more painful than its meant to be. I don’t like the right music; hip-hop. I like being accepted, I can’t get enough. I don’t compliment other people. I don’t care if they succeed, if they do well. The worse they are the happier I am. I get jealous easily. I am possesive of my friends. I am a social climber, I don’t even like having classes with my friends. I am an unkind, possesive, rude girl who just tries to put on a front of confidence. I am a procrastinator, I try too hard at school, I don’t do enough drugs for him. I am not recessed enough for him, not depressed enough for him.

I have almost no evidence to prove that he loves me. The flick of a cigarette my way in the back alley, a seemed wave. I felt happy. He waved to me. But it could have been Alia, his gorgeous counterpart. Alia loved my writing, loved my story. He loved the Diet Coke cans, and he loved the way I light a match. If he is his counterpart and he can love me – then he can. I am sure I am last on a list of perfect girls for him. I am too nerdy, I don’t do enough drugs, I am not depressed enough. not anti-social enough. I don’t dress like him--i hate those fucking scarves when its 70 degrees. He should know by now, know that I am perfect for him. Alia loved my writing. Susanna complimented my painting series, saying I was soooo good, right in front of him, in the alley. The sad part is that he said nothing. Just stood there, giving me the once over, passing me by as a fading child. If he could only know – I tell myself. but his refusal is all the more painful because he does know. He doesn’t love me for some specific reason. All the reasons I have listed above. But he sees how at least in that class I am loved by a silent Neal. oh, fuck. BUT YOU don’t just play scattergories with someone you hate...