Saner friends have accused me of having many nutso friends. In the aftermath of this shit, I have to admit that's true. But then, I have a wobbly side myself. I think if I'm honest, a tiny part of me realizes that Jenn's suicide deprived me of my own. The ideation will never be the same, now that I'm on the other side. My equation will never have much more certainty.
But for me it stays in my head, like everything, so that's cool. Or not everything, but the hilarious amounts of self-destruction I've pinata'd over my otherwise safe white girl life? The outcome never changed. I'm still in goddamn law school. I'm a little older than I should be, but still here. That bridge idea was real. Happened when I got my ranking for class, which literally blew my mind. I stood up from the email at work, walked outside for an early lunch, walked for an hour straight. Grabbed a chain link fence in the shady corner of a park and cried my makeup off.
I tried to be a secretary. And way more than that, I took my life places I thought no middle class girl could come back from. Not suicide because at the end of the day, I'm not Jenn. There's water I can't cross, and I should be grateful. But success, expectation, it eats me up slowly and horribly. Take me at my word that I have seriously rebelled. I have done some deviant shit. I have had some times. But I'm show pony of the day, all the same.
Those eyes that look at me and think I'm smart. It's like a horror movie, me behind the fourth wall, watching myself. I thought I could take away the suspense, take myself down with a controlled burn. Instead I have to keep opening every door in this fucking haunted house. Who wants to be Sydney?
In other words, success is scary, my talent is so flimsy and uncomfortable, and I hate having to disappoint everyone (myself!! what if I believe the bullshit, hard as I grind it out to try and keep it up?!). But there's so much to need, need, need. A terrifying game that I have to play!! Like Jumanji!!
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