The Diary of a Bitch

This Dizzy Dreamer

Tuesday September 22, 2015

I went to school today. I don't know why I did, I'm not nearly ready to face everyone again. It's not like they talk to me, or even acknowledge my existence, it's just that seeing so many people happy while all I can do is hold back tears causes me a lot more grief than staying home would.

What? You think just because I'm a bitch that I can't feel pain? I'm a bitch because of the pain I feel. Haven't you ever had an awful headache and just treated everyone to a vitriolic tongue because you didn't want to speak in any other way? Have you ever been having a nice day, then all of a sudden- BAM! You've stubbed your toe and suddenly your little brother running around with his toy car is fucking annoying? So you tell him that, even though your foul mood has nothing to do with him.

That's how I am.

You see, what you don't realize is that I'm just a person; like all of you. I blink and breathe and have desires. My favorite color is red (for reasons I won't disclose,) I like playing video games and feeling pretty.

But the latter doesn't come often. How could I be pretty? Me- the ugly sister of some beauty pageant winner. I'll never be my sister. I'll never be myself either, because of her. I'm constantly going to worry about whether or not I look nice... Whether I have a good smile or if people are noticing my missing tooth. Sometimes, all the pressure to be like Amanda gets to me and I just... It started as an accident. I was so nervous because my parents had entered me into a pageant, even though it was my sister's thing. This was several years ago, but I'll be damned if it doesn't feel like it was yesterday... So I was nervous. I wasn't a pretty child. I wasn't a talented child or an intelligent child. I spoke with a lisp and only had one, stubborn dimple. Long story short, I got so nervous, I puked. And it was awful. I hadn't eaten that day so all that came up was acid and it burned my throat and nostrils like a sickly flame sent from Satan himself to convince me to give up my soul in exchange for freedom from his torture.

I didn't win the pageant, but everyone gave me compliments on my look, style, and confidence. I didn't understand. Somehow, years later, this day got morphed into something in me and triggered my bulimic tendencies. At least, that's what my therapist told me after I spent a week in the ICU.

Such a tragedy, Amanda's nameless sister in the hospital. I was scared out of my mind. It happened during lacrosse (yes my high school has a lacrosse team). I was practicing, working my ass off as I ran laps, when suddenly my vision distorted. I saw everything in gold, like a blurry wave of apple juice was covering my eyes. I saw the field turn sideways, and heard my coach calling for me, but I couldn't move. I thought I was about to die. But instead I woke up to being scolded for not eating like I should, blah, blah, fucking blah. I eat just fine thank you, but that doesn't mean I keep it in me long enough for it to have an effect.

Of course that all changed after I nearly joined Lucifer in his fiery dungeon down below- but that doesn't mean I'm happy with it. No, puking isn't fun. No, it doesn't make you prettier. It hurts and ruins your teeth. It damages your body in more ways than you could ever know. You may lose weight- but is it really worth it to watch your hair and teeth fall out? Is it really worth it to be a frail, old woman before you're even eighteen?

I'll let you in on my little secret: it fucking isn't.