loathing

She began to hate herself.

She hated the others. Girls.

With their hair, perfect eyelashes, perfect figures. They may have hidden insecurities like she does, but they are the ones that are somehow happy in the way their life is going. They are the ones that get the attention and the happy result.

From guys.
From employers.
From the clerk behind the counter who "accidently" grabs a large cup when the girl asks for a medium mochalattewhateverthehellsheordered.
From the teacher when she politely asks for an extenstion.


The feeling was white hot. She felt she couldn't compete with all of this.


What was wrong with her?
She was a...

Publicly confident
Educated
Mousy haired girl who could not control that random flyaways or curls around the ends with sallow, sunken dark eyes that made zombies even look attractive.

Nighttime

She grew to hate the night. Summer was at it's midpoint, and even though she thought the sounds of the crickets outside the open bedroo
window used to sound soothing, they began to sound the the ticking clock of her life.

Annoying.

She lost all reason to find motivation in the day. Even the pills that lie on top of the nightstand failed to bring any synthetic happiness. The night brought on so many thoughts too.

She felt that she made a big mistake.
She ruined what was actually a good thing and should have kept her mouth shut.
She let her guard down.
She showed feelings. Probably for the first time.

Of all the advice from girlfriends or even a Dear Abby column, she felt saying how she felt might better the situation.


Well, Abby, she thought as she spent another sleepless night tossing and turning; have you ever listened to YOUR own advice and followed through? Pfff.