A Self-love Story

Chapter 2

I think hell is something you carry around with you, not somewhere you go.

Three years later,

Dear Diary,

Today I woke up in the morning with great reluctance. My eyes could find no joy in the bright sunlight, seeing it as nothing more than a nuisance to my sleep. The birds chirping outside were annoying me, the sound anything but sweet. Getting up in the morning was so much harder now. Everything in my life had changed and I had changed along with it because I had to, but it was not a change that I appreciated.

Oh and I'm sorry, that I haven't written for three years. I guess...I just lost the motivation. Why am I writing now? I don't know. I just found this diary today while I was looking for something else and decided to write in it. Maybe you just want something from your old life back. Something constant and familiar, like an old friend.

Anyway, let me fill you in on what happened these past few years. I graduated and moved out of my father's house. Why did I do it? Well, the house felt lonely because my brother left and dad decided that ignoring me was the best plan of action. But that doesn't bother me at all. I don't care anymore, remember? Yeah, I don't feel anything anymore. I didn't feel any pain when dad shut me out, deciding that I was a worthless child, unworthy of his praise, attention or pride. My heart wasn't crushed and my spirits weren't broken. No, it didn't affect me at all.

So, until now I have been using some money, my brother, Kieran gave me. He is now rich and successful. The exact opposite of me. I guess all the good genes of the family went to him, huh? The stark difference between the rich smart brother who created an amazing company and the poor useless sister who lives alone in her tiny apartment. Considering that, no wonder dad's not proud of me, no wonder he ignores me. I've done nothing to deserve his attention or pride, least of all his love. Isn't that how parenting works? I'm no expert obviously. Mom's dead and dad's alienated.

Anyway, back to the present. Today I was walking down the street after buying a few groceries. The cool breeze was a relief to my slightly sweat-slicked skin. Those bags sure were heavy. I had rearranged them in my hands so that they were easier to carry. Then, I felt the weight of multiple gazes on me, not an uncommon occurrence, let me assure you. I ignored the vague urge to squirm and I looked straight into each of their eyes. Keep staring, if you dare.

A few girls were looking my way and were whispering to each other, pointing at me shamelessly. I know they were talking about my face. The numerous scars decorating my face were a source of constant gossip. I wanted to shout at them that I wasn't a museum piece to be stared at. But I didn't say anything, it seemed like too much effort. Regardless, what would I say? Three years ago, I probably would have behaved the exact same way.

And their cruel words didn't affect me in the least. I don't care that they were pointing at my face and saying, "Omg! What happened to her face?!" I didn't mind it at all because it was so common now. It didn't hurt me at all because how can something that happens to you everyday hurt you?

I walked past them, calmly ignoring them and noticed a poster stuck on a pole. I peered at the black and white poster, glad for a distraction. As I read the words printed on it in a beautiful calligraphic font, I took a moment to absorb them. It was a job offer as an art gallery attendant at the Black Archive which is, of course, an art gallery.

I really needed a job, but could I actually be an art gallery attendant? I would have to interact with so many people. I would have to face millions of people staring at my face every day, and some nosy people might even ask questions about it. No. Yes. I shouldn't care. I don't care. It should be fine. Yeah, I'll do it, I had decided, ignoring the plummeting feeling in my stomach. I made up my mind, going against every instinct in my body that was screaming at me to refuse.