Julie Chan Is Dead

by Liann Zhang

I’m addicted to the way I grow hateful. Crave how it fills me with vitriol. Being angry and envious is better than being empty.

Recognizing problems is pointless when you have little motivation to fix them. And finding motivation is impossible when the mere idea of existing feels like a punishment.

Social media is the biggest thief of time but it’s also an impossibly addictive form of escape.

“I’ll never be applauded for mediocrity because I’m not a stereotypically beautiful white girl.”

They’re valid. I’m only saying if a Black or Hispanic, or hell, even Asian”—she turns to me and I recoil—“person said the same things you do, they’d be labeled as ungrateful. If we rotted in bed like you, our oily hair would be seen as dirty and lazy instead of relatable. We have to confine ourselves into these perfect yet nonthreatening boxes, while you have the privilege of complaining because you fit the aesthetic of the sad white girl that society thirsts for.”