I hate this time of year. No, I don’t mean detest or loathe, I mean hate. With a fiery burning passion. I hate that while all my friends are dress shopping, I’m stuck at home. I hate working my ass off for softball, just to get stuck on the bench because I don’t have the right last name. I hate the Facebook statuses and pictures of the cute ways my friends get asked to prom, the beautiful dresses I’ll never be able to afford, and seeing everyone totally and completely happy. Everyone but me.
Prom; the one time of the year that accentuates everything I’m not enough of.
I’m not pretty enough. Sure, I’m not bad to look at, but I’m just average. Plain. Not anyone the guys pursue openly. Especially not the one guy I want more than anything. The one who left me without saying goodbye or telling me why. I just exist, there on the side. The one everyone asks to edit their paper or the one they go to when they want a good book suggestion. Never the one asked to dances, to the movies, or to dinner.
Mom says “You’re gorgeous, but you’re too picky. You never give any guys a chance.” There’s no one worth giving a chance anymore.
My teeth aren’t straight enough. I’m not curvy enough. I don’t have big enough boobs. I’m not smart enough. I can’t carry on a conversation with a boy because I’m not confident enough, can’t flirt well enough. I’m not witty enough. The list could go on; I might as well be invisible.
I hate the fact that I’ll never get to wear my dream dress because we can’t afford it (as selfish as that sounds.) I hate that all my friends with have dates and I won’t. I hate how insanely jealous I am. Yea, a couple of boys have asked me. But I don’t want to go to prom with my little brother’s best friend or a boy that just wants to get in my pants even though he has a girlfriend.
My parents get mad because I’m so picky about who I let in my life and because I’ve never dated, never had my first kiss, even though I turn 18 on Sunday. I thought it was a good thing that I was cautious about who I let in my life? I guess not. I can get with every boy who happens to look my way, if they like. Granted, it’s not many, but I could. But I don’t because I have more respect for myself than that. But I also hate how whenever they look at me, all I can see is their disappointment.
I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted. I’m sorry I’m not good enough.
I hate prom. Not because of the dress thing. I’d get over that. I hate how it makes my parents look at me. I hate that every day that prom gets closer, I realize just how not enough I am.