Britney

Breakfast: Melon that reminds me of Toulouse, café au lait, 75 milligrams of Zoloft, juice. I read a Susan Sontag essay and try to place the source of the dense foreboding that is too big for my body before realizing: Today is the last day before school starts. My first day of junior year.

I want to be worth it. I repeat: I want to be worth it. I want to do incredibly well in school and be the type of person who spends a considerable amount of time focused on academics, and dedicate part of each day to making art and writing. I want to be organized and content and feel as if I am making the most of myself.

I’ve cut my hair even shorter than before. I am growing to hate spending time worrying about my physical self, worrying about how I look and how others perceive me.

I get two new Salvador Dalí posters for my room—Crucifixion and The Meditative Rose. I buy a ticket to the Whitney; my favorite thing is going to the museums I love most by myself. I try to make myself happy for once in my life. I want to be good to myself and to others.

In a dream that I wake up from doused in perspiration, I have died without initially realizing it; it is perhaps the most jarring dream I have ever had, because my will to live has never been stronger, and has never felt more necessary. I do not have enough happiness but I am constantly reaching for positivity. ♦