Read Stereotype for Free Online

“Eat your dinner.”
    Jess: “See? You’re not even listening to me!”
    Dad: (rolls eyes behind his newspaper)
    Abi: “She can’t help it. She’s a middle child.”
    Jess: “Shut up! You think you know everything.”
    Abi: “I know more than you do, anyway.”
    Mom: “Girls, stop fighting and eat your dinner.”
    Abi: (wonders if her mother’s preoccupation with getting them to eat their dinner is masking something deeper)
    Greg: “Can I say something now?”
    Mom: (sighing) “Go ahead.”
    Greg: “Football football football . . .”
     
     

Chapter Eighteen
     
    I spend Tuesday evening online. Four new emails. One from Sarah replying to a “fill this out about me and send back” survey I sent her. Two chain-letter-type emails from Sharon. And one from Graham. He seems to be on a roll today.
    I open it. It says pretty much the same thing as the text message, only with more waffling and more of a “you should feel sorry for me because my life is so horrible” vibe.
    Like the text message, it gets deleted. What does he expect me to say?
    Oh, yes, Graham, I’d love to be friends with you again even though you’re a horrible person who enjoys manipulating other people. Interesting how, although you told me what a bad friend I was, you still cling to the idea of us being friends. By the way, I’m in a crappy mood right now and don’t feel like listening to you whine about your life. I’m too self-absorbed to care about anyone but myself at the moment. Still want me to call you?
    I contemplate emailing him with that message, but refrain. I’d regret it later. Graham would take it as an invitation to start ringing me regularly again.
    I end up taking a bunch of online screening tests for depression. All of them say the same thing: your answers indicate you may be suffering from depression, please contact your local physician to discuss this, blah blah blah. One of them actually tells me that I am at risk for harming myself (gosh, you think?) and should seek immediate treatment.
    I wonder if they’re right. I wonder if I’m just a self-indulgent child with delusions of pain and no reason to complain.
    What’s so awful about my life, anyway? Everything’s fine. Good family, good home, good school, good friends.
    And then the things that don’t fit in:
    Suicidal thoughts. (Not thinking “I want to die”. Just thinking about how to do it.)
    Loss of appetite. (Sometimes due to earlier gorging with chocolate, but sometimes inexplicable.)
    Self harm. (Most likely to get attention.)
    Lack of energy. (And excessive tiredness – even though I get plenty of sleep.)
    Loss of interest in once enjoyable activities. (Shopping. Phone calls to friends. Sometimes, even reading, which is quite frustrating.)
    Feelings of worthlessness. (Well, I’m sixteen. It’s a given.)
    Maybe I’m just a neurotic teenager, and there’s really nothing wrong except for the fact that I think too much. Less thinking, and more doing, is the solution.
    Now, if only it didn’t require so much effort . . .
     
     

Chapter Nineteen
     
    Ever cried when you don’t know what you’re crying about? It’s intense, and it’s miserable, but oddly soothing at the same time. You’re curled up in your bed, huddled under the duvet, and you’re silently sobbing in the safety of your cocoon.
    That’s me, Tuesday night. I choose to blame Graham for popping up in my life again. But it’s not him. Well, not entirely him. It’s something that I can’t quite put my finger on.
    It’s more than just the I-feel-so-ugly crisis and it’s more than the I-hate-the-world feeling. It’s like the world is right, and I’m wrong.
    Ah, that’s it. It’s far easier to go around feeling like you’re the only sane person in a bunch of crazy people. Not so easy when you start thinking that maybe you’re the one who doesn’t fit in.
    I don’t even mean fitting in at school. That I can handle. Not fitting in with the rest of humanity is another