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November 23, 2002

Age: 14

After being pummeled by oranges by my sister for the past half hour (no lie) I’m pretty pissed off.

I just about realized how much I hate my family and need to get the hell out of here.

All my parents ever do is fight. All my sister ever does is whine. All I ever do is homework.

This isn’t a way to live. It’s a fucking prison! And at the risk of sounding melo-dramatic… what the hell? Why is life like this? I’m sick of all the trauma and drama, but I’m sick of the normality of it all at the same time.  

I need freedom. I need these next 4 years to fly by. I need college. I need drugs sex and rock and roll.

I need it all. But I probably won’t get it.

March 6, 2003

Age: 15

I realized today that I am a very cynical and sacastic little girl. I wish I could be happy and sweet like boys want girls to be. But instead I am someone who overanalyzes situations until they are “blue in the face” so to speak, and with a sharp wit to match. I wish I could be the cute nice girl that everyone loves. But I can’t. No matter how hard I force myself to be sugary sweet it just seems so fake and horrible. I can’t stop my tongue from making snide remarks and I’m always perfecting ways to be even more devious than the last time. Maybe it’s in my nature- I mean, maybe I was just born overanalytical. Or perhaps I developed it because of my environment. It was a defense mechanism made up for those harsh days in Allentown, and now it doesn’t exactly fit in or coincide with the personalities of the ineffectual people mulling about in the vast spoils of suburbia. I don’t know, but this kind of speak is an example of me overanalyzing nothing at all. 

I haven’t been bothered by my atmosphere in a long while. I haven’t been having those concurring thoughts of “Oh GOD I need to fucking get OUT of here.” I’ve just sort of been living my quaint and charming life, taking things day by day. That’s probably the way to do it, but I enjoy overdramatizing things and fucking them up, so usually I don’t have that kind pleasent mindset. I realized that today, though. I do like to fuck things up. It’s like I get some sick pleasure out of it. Like, I really deeply enjoy doing things the hard way. I’ll purposely do something that I know will get someone angry just because I want things between us to escalate to a point where it can be blown out of proportion! And at the same time, I hate it when people dramatize situations. It’s crazy.

I’m such a fucking hypocrite but I can’t help myself.

Who knows. It’s so late, and my need for conversation is begging to be quenched. I guess my warm bed is calling me. I suppose I should just go to sleep so that I can wake up to the annoying racquet of my alarm and start this day over again, only in a new outfit and on another spot on the calendar.

May 18, 2003

Age: 15

I’d like to take this opportunity to reflect on who I am now, 15 years old, independent and about to graduate from my freshman position at Springfield High school…

Here are just some random facts:

  • I’m very obsessive compulsive
  • I’ve made out with 4 people, 2 of whom I regret
  • I’m a virgin but I can see myself not being one AT LEAST by senior year. I just don’t take sex that seriously.
  • I’m a major drama queen, but aren’t we all?
  • I have been drunk 7 times.
  • I made out with a junior when I was an 8th grader (OOH DEVIOUS)*
  • I will never forgive my mom for some of the selfish things she did to this family.
  • I am utterly obsessed with Dave Matthews Band
  • I can’t help being addicted to reality TV
  • I have stolen approximately 8 things
  • "I kissed a drunk girl" (It’s a Something Corporate song but it’s true)
  • I can’t wait to move to NYC and meet people who are even more interesting than me.
  • I’m too hxc for you (let’s see  if I know what that means in 20 years)
  • I DON’T WANT KIDS**
  • I have been in love twice***
  • Two songs have truly been written about me****

Now when I’m old I can look back on this and remember what a shameless self righteous list whore I was. 

Tomorrow is Monday… manic to the max.

Fervently Yours,

J

* In retrospect, what a creep!

**Obviously this has changed, because who wants kids at 15?!

***LOL

****By “songs” I meant “Garage Band beats composed by silly high school boys”

November 19, 2002

Age: 14

I don’t like being depressed. Me and my horrid, uncaring, pathetic self have locked the bedroom door and began blasting my old Nirvana CD. Poor ol’ Kurt Cobain - so tragic, so REAL. I like reality. Like in Almost Famous. I can relate to him. He was real. William was so fucking real. Am I?

I think I’m too real. Too intense. I wish desperately sometimes to be carefree and do what my blonde hair is screaming at me to do - HAVE FUN! But for some reason I’m under these unbreakable pseudochains where I’m forbidden to be happy. I want to be fake. And cheery. I don’t want to be told a thousand times a day “CHEER UP EMO KID!!!” Fuck! I want to slap on a blue cheeraleading uniform, the one that reflects my pooly blue eyes, shake a few pompoms, and shout some RAH RAH RAH’s… and be happy with that. I want, no, I WISH to be SATISFIED with being superficial and eternally joyous. But I’m not. And I don’t know why. Why I don’t want to go see 8 Mile in leopard pants and permed hair? Why I don’t want to date the star football player? It frustrates and saddens me that I can’t just be okay with being mediocre.

Instead I have to ponder things wayyyyyy too much. Ms. Plath had it right - thinking sucks, and dammit it’s all I ever do.

xoxo ~ Jess l Give me some Bacardi.

October 1997

Dear Journal,

I’m soooooo board! My dad and my sister, Alison, are at Ali’s soccer game. My mom is in a really bad mood as usual. I’m not surprised that she is though.

I called Lauren and Megan and they’re both not home! I get the feeling that nobody likes me or maybe they just are to busy doing their 6th grader things to have time for a 4th grader like me. If that’s how they feel then, if they can’t find some time for me I’ll just act like them.

I have this book report due on November 31st. I’m reading Spying on Miss Müller. That’s an umlat. You see, Miss Müller is German so she has an umlat over the u in her name. Well, I gotta go! I’m running out of paper anyway so until the next time I write to you journal!

(Scribbled up the margin of the page)

Help, I’m running out of paper!

Signed,

Jess

(You should know me well enough by now that I shouldn’t have to write my full name!)

September 26, 1997

Age: 9

Dear Journal,

I know I haven’t written in you for a really long time! About 5 months and 4 days. I’m surprised you haven’t forgot about me! Here’s an update on what’s been happening in my life since I last wrote you. School started about 5 weeks ago. I’m in 4th grade now. No more baby games or fooling around. 4th grade is a real grade. Not one of those baby K-3rd grades. I still intend to keep my record of all A’s. My teacher Mrs. S. is really nice, except she’s very strict about talking. If you so much as open your mouth, you get sent to time out. Oh! By the way, don’t you think time out’s a little babieish for 4th grade!?!? I do! Well, I really hafta go. My Grandma’s coming to watch Ali & I soon.

Bye!

Yours truely,

Jessica Roy

P.S. I take German now!

I text him “Whatever” and go to Barnes & Noble to buy the new issue of “Vogue” and a poetry anthology by Anne Sexton.

- Spring 2005

A Note

One of my biggest reservations in doing this project is that my childhood diaries are just so painfully cliched that it’d be easy to mistake them for fakes. For authenticity’s sake, I’ve gone back and posted pictures of the entries that were written in physical notebooks. You really can’t make this shit up, people. I actually was this embarrassingly angsty.

March 15, 1997

Age: 9

Hey Journal!

AAAAAHHHHH!

I can’t stand it anymore! I’m gonna go crazy! I requested a song 15 minutes ago and now it still hasn’t played! Now we’re leaving for the parade and now I won’t get to hear it! I hate my radio!

Well, that’s life!

Sincerely, Jessica Roy

March 29, 1997

Age: 9

Dear journal,

Happy Easter!

I found out something that I didn’t know if it were true or false. I found out that the Easter bunny and Santa weren’t real! It kind of makes me sad that my parents have been lying to me for so many years. I still like to believe, though!

Well, bye!

Jessica Roy