Diary of A Depressed Author
When I was little, I looked up to my mom.
She's this strong... powerful person in my life. She influenced a lot of things for me, but she also taught me a lot. An example of that would be when we were at the meetings.
People always came up to her to chat. Nobody really talked to me. I was always left alone, but I was used to it. I shouldn't have been, but I was. When people gave her crap, she stood up to them and gave this strict, defiant stare that made everyone in the room turn their heads. She's tall and foreboding, slender and absolutely terrifying when given the chance. That's why I looked up to her.
She taught us three kids how to look proper. How to match dresses and jackets. How to be polite, to say 'please' and 'thank you'. But all of that was just for the meetings in the end. All of it. The scolding, the insults, the compliments afterwards. She said that with makeup, we'd be beautiful.
She said that to me, a few weeks ago. I got SO MAD. "Beauty lies not in someone's appearance, you know. That's stupid." I wanted to yell at her. I wanted to say all these things. But of course I didn't. Us three had realized long ago that talking back would only result in her getting more suspicious, getting more antsy about our true beliefs. She already knew, though. Of course she already knew. How could we manage to be that obvious...?
Today in gym, I learned after about 5 minutes of the whole running thing that I wasn't sore. I was conditioned to it now. Sure, my face was still red as shit (which was super embarrassing btw) and I still was out of breath (we were playing this game where you were basically just running the whole time. HOW IS THAT EVEN A GAME?) but I wasn't sore in the slightest. I guess this means I have huge man muscles now, lol.
I notice that we've been getting Chinese food a ton. Like, a TON. It's only been a few weeks but we've gotten it several times. It's not that good, honestly. But we just can't be bothered nowadays to really try.
I feel sleepy even though it's only 6:30. Ugh. Will probably write more tomorrow, I have to watch this really awful movie about this girl with bulimia. It's fucking depressing as shit.
Side rant: I also notice that it's only now that I've started to change my appearance. I've stopped wearing so many baggy shirts, cut the crap with all the jackets and sweaters. Hey, it's a new school. Why not make myself a new person?
So I've changed. A lot. I've gone from being the girl who does barely anything in gym to being the girl who actually tries, gets conditioned. I'm the girl who wears tight shirts and doesn't give a shit. I wear scarves in the middle of class and write stories like nobody's fucking there. And occasionally I hang out with like, a couple of people. Anna. Alina, Amelia, Abby. All of their names start with A's, lol. There's others, too. But half of the time I'm just alone.
It's okay. I'm used to it.
Your local retard