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other girls

8 Apr

Yes, you’re pretty. You look really good with your boyfriend in this picture. Your skin and hair are always perfect. Even on a good day, other peoples’ pictures make me unhappy. I know I have a lot to be thankful for, but everyone else just seems happier. And that makes me jealous. But, I know, they’re only pictures. Right, right. I know. These pictures don’t show me that from the waist down, she’s actually kind of chubby. And her boyfriend might have a really handsome smile, but he gets upset if she talks too much about Harry Potter or spends a little too much time with her other friends. Still, the pictures are nice, and if someone were to go through my photo album on Facebook, it wouldn’t seem I have much of which to be jealous.
I hate that I care. There are more important things, you know? Friendship, bravery… Too often, I get caught up with worrying what other girls think. Other Girls. Always, other girls. At this point, I can’t tell whether it’s still fear or if it’s grown to a more reprehensible distrust or loathing. Generally, I mean. There are girls I like. Some girls are good. Did you know?
In first grade, my best friend was a girl, and the best person in the world (Besides Matt, who gave me butterflies even then). My mother disapproved of my choice of friend, and told me so. And I was upset, because I had one of those moms who wanted to choose my friends for me. Books and TV told me this was wrong. And good girls stand up for their friends. So I stood up for my friend, and Mom had to accept it.
In third grade, we were equally less Best than we’d been to each other in first, and I understood early that people drift apart. She had other friends, and I had a couple new ones too. I clearly remember my new friendships being threatened when she played foursquare with us, and whispered secrets to my friends when I was right there. That was when I first disliked a girl. Mom might have been right about her.
In sixth grade, things were significantly worse. It was bigger than two of us then, but we were on different sides. I refer to our covert disputes simply as The War. 1999 was not a good year. To survive junior high, I probably blocked the most gruesome details from my memory, but I do remember coming home from school one day and crying in my grandmother’s lap. And I’ve always loved Grandma, but she’d never been someone I could count on for comfort until then. And one other time, six years later. I couldn’t understand how girls could be so mean.
It’s not Ex BFF’s fault, I guess. Because in high school, I chose to be best friends with a girl who was even worse. I should know now, that if I ever want to trust a girl, it should probably be someone different. Maybe someone who can carry her own damn books. Someone who includes me in conversations with other people instead of making me stand awkwardly nearby, staring at her back. You know, like one of those people who isn’t always making me feel inferior.
Yeah.
In tenth grade, we read The Glass Menagerie in English. I don’t remember anything about it except that it encouraged me to learn what an inferiority complex is. I realized then that I might have a problem. I remembered now that when it comes to girls, I might still have a problem, and a public blog is not the place to discuss it. I mean, not before I’ve been cured.

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4 Responses to “other girls”

  1. littleknownpoet April 8, 2012 at 9:26 pm #

    wow. I could totally have written this. Somehow being friends with girls never ends well for me… share the cure when you have it.

    • jenibo April 8, 2012 at 10:01 pm #

      It’s easier to be friends with girls online. 🙂

  2. Wendy April 9, 2012 at 7:54 pm #

    hehe.. i know the high school one. and i can’t say i know the other one.LOL anyway.. brings back memories when you write about the old days. you know.. when we were young 😉

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