I'm Glad My Mom Died

by Jennette McCurdy

I fear that I’m bitter. I’m too young to be bitter. Especially as a result of a life that people supposedly envy.

What are you up too? I’m no stickler on spelling but Jesus Christ get your “tos” right. That’s it. I’m ready to end things.

“Men, they’ll hurt you without ever really knowing you,” she often told me. “But women… women will know you deeply, intimately, and then hurt you. You tell me which is worse.”

The more experience I’ve got, the more I recognize that the body is hardly a reliable reflection of what’s going on inside it. My body has fluctuated frequently and drastically throughout this decade, and no matter how it’s fluctuated, no matter whether my body is a kids’ size 10 slim or an adult size 6, I’ve had an issue underneath it. People don’t seem to get that unless they have a history with eating disorders. People seem to assign thin with “good,” heavy with “bad,” and too thin also with “bad.” There’s such a small window of “good.” It’s a window that I currently fall into, even though my habits are so far from good. I’m abusing my body every day. I’m miserable. I’m depleted. And yet the compliments keep pouring in.

“I could buy some plants.” I shrug. The amount of times I’ve thought buying plants might make a difference in my life is staggering.

I always forget that trying to reason with the unreasonable is… unreasonable.