Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

She’s at it again. I wish she’d stop. She’s beautiful, they all are, but they keep denying it. It makes me feel bad about myself. They make me feel even uglier. Even fatter. I’m no model, no athlete, nothing like them, and I know it. I’m probably overweight, but that’s mostly my fault and I honestly don’t care, but sometimes I do.

Everyone is insecure about something, some more than others. We’re human beings, it’s in our nature. Most of my friends are insecure about looks. So am I at times. Not much, but still. I’m occasionally insecure about how I act, especially at home. Courtesy of Mama. Sometimes Papa, but mostly Mama. She’s always making derogatory comments about me. Yelling. Insulting. Taunting. She calls me lazy, she calls me fat, she calls me a showoff, she calls me stupid. She makes me feel like I’m not smart enough. But how can I be smart if she won’t let me be smart? All those letters from universities, all those scholarships and advanced summer programs, all denied, ignored, all gone to waste.

I weigh at least about 50 pounds more than most of the girls. I don’t even eat that much (no, I’m not anorexic, I just don’t like most of the food Mama makes). My main doctor says I’m still fine, I just need to stop gaining weight. My gynecologist says I’m gaining because of the tablets she gave me. Mama says it’s because I’m lazy and just sit around all the time. She says I need to go outside and play with the other children. But she doesn’t let me go outside. She tells me to stay inside or in the backyard and watch my siblings or help out in the garden, even though she says I’m doing everything wrong. Is it a crime to feel bored? I’m curious and friendly, and like most people, I just don’t socialize because I’m always reading, and she doesn’t like it when I’m reading. It’s only natural that I would want to go out front.

She doesn’t like most of the other children, always saying stuff behind their backs to Papa, saying bad stuff about their families. And yet, she’s always comparing me to them. Look at how smart they are, how nice they look, how fit and healthy. She’s hypocritical and confusing. Why tell me to socialize and play and compare me to kids whose families you criticize and tell me to avoid? She’s racist and sexist, always making fun of Blacks and Hispanics. She doesn’t ever say anything about Whites. She doesn’t like Anne Frank, my role model, because she was a Jew. She says they’re evil. She says all Jews and Christians and Hindus and everyone are evil, they just pretend to be nice. She doesn’t trust anybody, not even family. She acts all high and mighty, even though she’s one of the most flawed people in the world. She doesn’t like Malala for being brave and speaking up for girls. She doesn’t like my feminist beliefs, doesn’t like my creative ideas, never listens. Says I’m pathetic, not worth it, that I should be kicked out and deserve to die. She makes me want to die. It’s an accomplishment for anybody to be able to make me angry or upset for longer than 5 minutes, to make me cry. She can make me question life without trying.

I actually considered killing myself. Several times, for several years. But I stopped. I wasn’t going to let her control me. I wasn’t going to let her decide whether or not I’m worth it. I wasn’t going to let her win. She still gets to me, though. But it’s okay because I know I’ll be okay. I still feel insecure at times. I have trust issues. I have to be sneaky and secretive. It’s the only way for me to be able to get away with being happy. I have friends who are Hispanic, White, Black, Christian, Hindu. No Jews yet, I haven’t met any. I’d like to though. If Anne Frank and Carrie Fisher are anything to go by, they seem pretty normal. They all do. We’re all human beings. That’s all we’ll ever be. It’s okay to doubt yourself, it’s normal. We just have to remember that nobody other than ourselves can determine who we really are.

Love,

Danielle