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Well, it's pretty obvious I'm not mother's ******** favorite child.

Is it my fault that I inherited dad's genes? That, even though I run ******** it's not good enough, that eating strawberries is making me 'chunky'?

I don't even think she realizes how she makes me feel. "Oh, your sister wore the smallest size butthuggers, hooo hooo ohooo hoooo! She was so athletic, look at her varsity letter! And the other two letters! Ooh, you just got one small one? Oh, too bad. She was so much better than you, look at her THREE! THREE LETTERS! THREE! And I was SPAZZING LIKE MAD when she got her first one! Whooohooo! Wonderous! She's amazing! Unlike you, fat, ugly you!

Gods, like, she was saying about my meet tomorrow, "...going to be fat, ugly, chunky. That's how you'll look tomorrow!"

GREAT. JUST GREAT. THAT'S WONDERFUL. ******** RAISES MY ******** CONFIDENCE, doesn't it ********? I KNOW I'm not as athletic as my ******** sister, I KNOW I'm a ******** WHALE in comparison to the BEAUTIFUL Alyssa, I KNOW I only have 'one measly little sports-letter.' But honestly, can't you just stop comparing us? Why can you see my grades, my volunteer work, my other s**t that I do?