Spiral Notebook

I hate you all, the message read. It was written in adolescent angst with simple blue pen, on a lined page torn from her spiral notebook.

No one will ever know truly I feel, how it feels to never fit in, not matter how hard I try, no matter what I do or say, the next lines down read.

To feel like everything good is happening somewhere else, and all the girls are pretty except me, and they’re talking to the good-looking guys, smiling and laughing, and having fun. They’re laughing because they’re pretty, and all the boys love them, and are fighting for their attention. They’re laughing because their lives will be easy, because they’re skinny, and because of their beautiful long blond hair and shapely bodies. They’re laughing because they’ve won and it was so easy for them but everything will always be hard for me.

And I know that somewhere underneath in that laughter they’re also laughing at me.

Because I can never be like them, no matter how hard I try.
Because I can never look like them, no matter what I do.
Because no one will ever want me the way they want them, even if I were beautiful inside, and even though they’re beautiful on the outside but inside they’re horrible, self-absorbed narcissistic bitches. Fuck them.

I hate you, the message read. Go to hell and burn and suffer. I hate you all.

I love you all, and I’m sorry, the message said. I love you Dad, even though you yelled at me, and I love you Mom, even though you drank so much. I love you brother and I’m sorry that it’s only going to be harder for you growing up now. I hope you never have to feel the way I do.

I love you for wanting the best for me. I love you for providing as best you could, even though the family is poor and times are tough. I love you for making me dinner and giving me a place to lay my head.

I’m sorry, the message said, and I love you all. I just wish it felt like someone loved me back.

The message was found on her locker first thing Monday morning, but her body not until the end of the week, when it washed up onshore, far downstream from the old suspension bridge.

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