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Lexapro is helping, but right now, I’m so depressed. I can see right now where depression can be anger turned inward, though most of the time for me, it is not.
To begin with, for most of my summer, I have been the less attractive sidekick. It doesn’t matter whether this is true or not, because it’s true to me. My looks are plain. My personality is hidden under layers and layers of cautiousness. Layers of wondering if it’s okay to reveal this or that, to say this or that. Will they think I’m weird? Will I be able to explain myself or cover it up? Is this universal? Everyone who encounters us has to go on looks alone first, personalities second. In looks, I come in second. In personality, I default in second because it seems like I have none. So yes, I’m sick of being number two. Paige 2, the second best-looking, the one you know second-best, the one you go to second, the one you settle for because you can’t get the one you really want. Know why? Because in my friends, I don’t settle for second-best. And in my romantic relationships, I don’t settle for second-best. I know what I want.
And you know, if you’ve settled for me, it doesn’t even matter if I turn out to be better than you expected, or if you grow to love me more than what you wanted. The truth is that I was number two. I was not what you wanted. That will taint everything.
I wonder what I would have to do to be what even one person wanted the most, and I wonder if I’d even do that.
I think this is why I’ve started picking at my scalp again. It bleeds. It hurts. I pick through the pain for no real reason, except that it’s a scab. It’s there.
One of my biggest fears is that I’m not good enough. I try hard. Does anyone know how difficult it is to communicate? Even to send an IM, let alone to approach someone in person to deliver a simple “hello” or a few words’ worth of an exchange. So when I hear the superhero talking about how she doesn’t think she’s good enough, I just think, “Where does that leave me?” I know it’s not her intention. But her seeing her own flaws does not make me feel better about myself. In fact, I feel bad when anyone sees his or her own flaws. It doesn’t make me feel awesome.
I know we are friends now. I don’t want to give you any reason to wallow in self-pity for what you did to me the other night. There is no reason you should be able to wallow in self-pity for me being angry with you. I don’t want to wallow in self-pity myself, either. It’s an absolute waste of time. I just have no idea what I did to you to give you the signal that it was okay to say those things to me, that it was okay to attempt to invalidate our relationship, that it was okay to attempt to even slightly invalidate our friendship. Was it an attempt to hurt me? Is our friendship really that valueless to you, like our relationship apparently was? Was it an attempt to hurt yourself? Anyway, it was a selfish move, and it hurt me directly and is in turn going to hurt you because of the effect it had on me. I have no idea what you want with being friends with me now, or if I’m even “good enough” for that. Why did you contact me in the first place? Did you intend for me to be number two, a replacement, and did you really think I would never find out or just not give a shit? I knew from near the beginning, and I did give a shit. Are you mad at me for prom? I don’t think that’s much of a huge deal. Are you mad at me for parties? I didn’t ignore you; I didn’t want to cockblock you. Are you mad at me for not making much of an attempt to hang out with you this summer despite your near-complete lack of attempts? It just frustrates me. Why are you doing this? Are you sick of me? Trying to break ties because I’m not what you wanted romantically, so I can’t even be your friend? I think that if you knew in advance the effect it would have on me, you probably would have held your tongue.
Oh, and by the way, your number one is an amazing person. I’d never be able to write her off as anything less than that. I can at the very least see why you value her, but I don’t know why you’d try to compare time spent with me to past times spent with her. I’m a different person. It’s like you don’t even want to give me a chance as a friend anymore.
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