TBT to 1993: "The Queen of Not-Fair-Ness."

Is there anything more emo than the summer before you turn thirteen? You're stuck at home all the time with your annoying siblings, your friends are all off at cool sleepaway camps (or, perhaps, Orchestra Camp), and there's no school to break up the monotony of suburban tween angst. It sucks.

...That's the only disclaimer I have in defense of the following journal entry, which documents the horrors of being twelve, including NO ONE understanding me, no one UNDERSTANDING me, and no one understanding ME.

Just in case the writing isn't humiliating enough, here's a picture
of me in my bathing suit, taken a few weeks after the diary entry was
written...tan lines and all. Whoever made the middle-school swimmers and
divers (I was a diver) take a yearbook picture in their bathing suits was evil.

********************
August 7, 1993
     My only wish in the entire world is for someone - anyone - to understand me, which happens to be one of the dumbest wishes in the world because I know and everyone else knows that no one will ever, ever understand me. And the thing is, I'M NOT HARD TO UNDERSTAND. It's just that I have no one to talk to that will be ready to listen. Even pouring out my feelings in this journal doesn't help much because the journal doesn't know anything to do to make me feel better, even though I've heard that writing down your feelings is great for the mind and it helps your self-confidence (which I happen to be a little low on lately). None of my friends (except Sarah) are home. They're all at camp or on vacation. (That's true. They are.)
     I suppose I'm grounded now because I just slugged Steve for being a little brat. He deserved it, though, and that's what nobody seems to understand. I guess, though, that that's partly my fault, because I can't explain why I hit him. It's been building inside of me for a long time, my hate for him. Finally now it's out of me (my hate for him is out of me, I mean), and look at all the good it did for me.
     No one understands how hard it is for me to be stuck in the middle of things. Half the time, I'm one of "the little kids," and the other half of the time I'm old enough to earn money and it's, "Cathy, gimme money. I need money and I'm too helpless to go to the bank and oh don't worry I'll pay you back."
     WHEN THE HELL IS EVERYONE GONNA PAY ME BACK?!!?
     It's just not fair!!
     Life's not fair, Cathy.
     Dammit, I know life's not fair. Who should know better than me, the Queen of Not-Fair-ness.
     Because I hit Steve, the hard-earned money used to pay for the Nintendo Game we got is going to waste because Mom said no.
     NOT FAIR.
********************

Well. That escalated quickly. I don't recall harboring such hatred for my younger brother, but there you have it. Sorry, Steve, that you were the recipient of my hormonal rage bubbling over. I also don't recall being my siblings' personal financier, and I'm not exactly sure what's up with me talking to myself towards the end of the entry ("Life's not fair, Cathy"). I think I really did wish that someone would stumble on my journal and just totally GET me and provide all the answers for me. I don't know who that someone was; probably an imaginary boyfriend.

And now look at me, with a husband who understands me all too well and enjoys nothing more than watching his wife and his daughter (the...Princess of Not-Fair-ness?) get into the ultimate Battles of Gorga-tude against one another. Can't wait to see what works of melodramatic art Rowan's tween years produce! After all, I've heard that writing down your feelings is great for the mind.

Yikes. Good night, and good Throwback Thursday to you.

(Find more Throwbacks to Hell here!)

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