Today, you are reading my diary.
When I was in middle school, the boys in my class used to call me beast because I was so much taller than them. For years, I refused to wear heels because I didn’t want to bring attention to my height and bring upon recognition of a nickname that was so humiliating, the memory of it still makes me sick. My middle school yearbook is full of another nickname, or “The Duck” because I never learned how to walk normal and sometimes, I walk on my toes. It’s cute when you’re a toddler but when you’re 14 and boys quack at you in the hallways, it’s enough to will God to temporarily lend you a sprained ankle so you have a reason for walking a little different.
I’ve never talked about that since that time. We’ve all been bullied at some point or another and we all have our own little humiliations from our past selves who weren’t strong enough at the time to put those people in their places.
The reason I bring it up is because today, I walked four miles for a cookie.
Actually, I just went on a walk and the cookie was part of it but in between the cookie and leaving I had a lot of time to think.
I’ve been feeling.. off. A little discouraged, a little run-down, a little like I’m going through the motions in circles for reasons I don’t really know. I’m frustrated and I can’t tell you why. It’s something a cookie can’t solve but dammit if I didn’t try.
I think you’re supposed to go through ruts that you don’t bring upon yourself. Little skips in the playlist of life that you’re not really sure what caused them or how to make it stop. I feel like today my enthusiasm has run a little dry. Like I’m walking and walking and I don’t really know why. Like I’m looking for some metaphorical cookie and all I can find is stop lights and the same faces over and over again. Quack Meg. Quack.
I saw a girl today who looks like someone I know. She looked like a lot of girls. Just pretty but in a normal way and dressed like how I’d imagine her to dress. I wonder what people think when they see me. It bothers me that maybe that’s the way others see me too. Just a girl wearing what girls my age wear. It makes me feel incredibly unoriginal. A normal girl. Like someone you might know.
But trying to be original makes me feel like I’m trying to embody other girls who are trying to be original. Like no matter what I do, I can’t be somebody different. I have to be some version of being myself which is exactly the same as everyone else. I can’t go through my own heartbreak because it’s all been said and felt before. I want to scream into my pillow about how unimportant I feel. But then, some girl has probably done that too. Probably several times. It’s definitely in a movie. Great.
And I’d ask you all if you’ve ever felt the same, but then.. I know you have. And right now.. yeah. I don’t care.
I read this quote from Mila Kunis that I love and I can’t find because apparently she did this hysterical interview with this nervous reporter and it’s all that’s coming up on Google. But pretty much she says whether someone calls you pretty or ugly… you are. It doesn’t matter what they say.. because it’s true. It’s perception. It’s not how many people tell you you look good or bad. It’s not how many people who tell you you look skinny or pretty or what not. You just are.
And despite my overarching theme of apathy today, I love that quote. I am currently attempting to adopt it entirely into my psyche. I thought about it further on my ridiculously long walk.
Today, maybe it actually stuck. Today, I don’t care how many people find me attractive. I don’t care how many people don’t. I’m the same person with 10 pounds on me. I’m the same person if I were to lose 30. I’m the same person with a nose job or blonde hair or if I wear heels or if I decide to start wearing turtlenecks exclusively. I don’t care if people think I have messy hair or chipped nails or if I walk on my toes or if I look weird when I don’t smile with my teeth. I can’t change any of it, and in that, maybe I can be original in my own unoriginality. That I am who I am who I am.
Today, I feel like the human version of a GPS voice. like TURN RIGHT here. And I do. Without much thought or opinion or emotion on the matter. The cookie was delicious but so are a lot of things.
Today is Wednesday, March 6th. My name is Meg. I am 23 years old. I live in Los Angeles, California.
And maybe today I’m just another face in a sea of faces that I see everyday.
Today, I am tired.
I am frustrated.
I am confused.
I am unsure.
I am melancholy.
I am apathetic.
And I am who I am who I am who I am who I am.
And, you know what?
Today, that’s just going to have to be good enough.