I am full of it. It’s true. I sat in class today on the verge of tears as we were screening our first term project films, and i wanted to leave. In my head it goes-“I am no good, I am no good, she is better, he is better, more funny, more creative, more interesting.” I say I’m tired of my doubt, but not tired enough, and it’s not even about doubt really. It’s something else, doubt has its place, it has value. What I’m doing to myself, and what i do to myself is the same thing my Mother does to herself, and every bitter, dramatic woman i know. We self annihilate to the point of total despair, and use our self righteousness to account for our lack of courage, and that is what I lack. I just choked on that. literally. I imagine its boring to read somebody else’s head spinning. Or maybe it’s makes people feel less fucked up. I was thinking today that I wanted someone to tell me that I suck. So a friend of mine did, because I told her that. Every conversation I have had today and in the past few weeks has been filled with awkwardness, stilted. I feel phony, this phony person who cares about the world, and wants no part of it. Diss myself while everyone around me says otherwise. Eventually they will say nothing, or maybe they’ll diss back, maybe they already do when I’m not there. I don’t know. I am brutal. I am most brutal with me. I eat to the point of harm, i think to the point of tears, and headaches. I scold myself like the perfectionist Mother i never had. I am tired of fighting me, and I wish that meant I would stop.