In which Rebecca beats herself up about the future.
How did I get here? That's something I used to wonder all the time. Sometimes I thought I knew. I thought it was because Mom never wanted me. Maybe that's it, but it really doesn't matter. What really matters is: How do I get from here to the place where I want to be? That question used to bother me all the time. But in recent years, I've either stopped allowing myself to think about it, or I've realized that I don't really want to be where I always thought. I'm still not sure which. I live in my own head. I see myself as I imagine myself to be, not as the rest of the world sees me. And most of the time that works fine. But not always. Not today.
I can't always live in my head. Sometimes I have to live in my body. And that's when I realize how stupid and naive I am. Sometimes I feel like there's this big secret club, and everyone is a member except me. Sometimes I feel like there's a TV screen in my forehead (which, after all, is fucking big enough for a widescreen TV!), and everything I'm thinking about it is being played on it, and everyone can see my thoughts except me. The place where I want to be is not a place for a girl like me, who doesn't wear makeup and has horrible hair and no self-confidence and still bites her nails.
It is hot in this room. Our only air conditioner is in the other room, and I have the door closed and the fan off. I could open the window, but that would probably make me wheeze. Me and my damn lungs.
I should look for another job, but then I remember the marathon of misery that was last summer's job hunt. I just wanted to kill myself. This time could be better, different, but I'm still scared. Things feel so hard, especially right now. I've just got to force myself to do it, even though I'm scared, like I did when I went to France. I was never really sure what might go wrong in France. I just had this vague, nameless fear. This time I know what can go wrong. For some reason, that makes it worse. It's like, why even try when I already know how much it could suck?
[Transcribed from my paper journal.]
I can't always live in my head. Sometimes I have to live in my body. And that's when I realize how stupid and naive I am. Sometimes I feel like there's this big secret club, and everyone is a member except me. Sometimes I feel like there's a TV screen in my forehead (which, after all, is fucking big enough for a widescreen TV!), and everything I'm thinking about it is being played on it, and everyone can see my thoughts except me. The place where I want to be is not a place for a girl like me, who doesn't wear makeup and has horrible hair and no self-confidence and still bites her nails.
It is hot in this room. Our only air conditioner is in the other room, and I have the door closed and the fan off. I could open the window, but that would probably make me wheeze. Me and my damn lungs.
I should look for another job, but then I remember the marathon of misery that was last summer's job hunt. I just wanted to kill myself. This time could be better, different, but I'm still scared. Things feel so hard, especially right now. I've just got to force myself to do it, even though I'm scared, like I did when I went to France. I was never really sure what might go wrong in France. I just had this vague, nameless fear. This time I know what can go wrong. For some reason, that makes it worse. It's like, why even try when I already know how much it could suck?
[Transcribed from my paper journal.]