i am a very ugly girl

eventually, i did lose some weight but im too sad to make friends anyway

she is voiceless. her own unique personal story is begging to be told. she’s hurt but quiet and no one is bothered enough by her quietness to figure out what’s wrong (maybe because girls should be quiet anyway). it doesn’t matter you were hurt and changed because ultimately it doesn’t matter what kind of person you were or the potential you lost. it never mattered. you were inconsequential to them (you are a girl). people around you love you but the love you are given isn’t the love that saves you because those who loved you never really understood who you are (they loved you like they think a girl should be loved). nobody ever has. they have used your body and that made you feel even more of a stranger in your home, in your life, completely depersonalised (you’re starting to realise you don’t really exist as you, you only exist as a girl. for the world and your family, you’re not you, you’re just a girl. and girls are only good for their bodies) you know something has happened, is currently happening, and that something is wrong, but then why isn’t anyone making a fuss? (losing track of who you are is just what happens to girls. it doesn’t matter that it happens because it’s not robbing the world of anything but a girl). you can’t tell whether you even should be upset. maybe you have died but you don’t know it yet. why else won’t people see you for who you are? why else would people treat you as if you’re not there? you’re trapped with your existential terror. even your death isn’t enough to open the family’s eyes to what they lost. even after they find the safe, the cassette, even after they read her diary. sure it’s weird, alice was more than we thought she was, but they move on without understanding it. the family doesn’t realise Alice is in the pictures all along, but we see it. her desperation is conveyed to an audience of strangers who gloss over it as much as her family has. they focus on the depiction of the family’s loss more than on Alice’s experience of teenage-hood. no one grieved her. she’s alone. she says so, she writes so, she visits her family in their sleep, she spells it out; yet—even though they read, and listen, and watch the footage—no one sees or hears her. she’s ignored. but there’s no malice, because this is just how things go (as a girl).

now idk whether i should dress up as alice palmer or anna delvey for halloween