Bash the Jan

We're playing this game, it's called Bash the Jan. We don't play it very often, but we're playing it tonight. It's in full swing right now, and all I can do is stare sullenly at my phone, acting like everything they say is magically deflected.

Here's how the game goes.

You need at least two other people, besides the Jan, if Jan can be considered a person. Everyone sits around a table, preferably after Jan has made someone not playing storm off. The two people -- players -- then proceed to beat down the Jan for being the malicious, wrong-doing, hurtful bitch that she is. Once they run out of steam (which won't be for a while), they can make the game last longer by using psychoanalytical crap to pinpoint the reasons why the Jan is the way she (it?) is.

The Jan sometimes talks back, before the lesson sinks in through her thick skull: the more she talks, the longer the game will go on for. It could be an hour. It could be twenty minutes. It just depends on how long she is able to hold her tongue.

I won't talk back, fine. But don't you dare start using that psychoanalytical shit on me. If you're going to do that, you tell me why I wanted to fucking kill myself, THEN you go on about what a bitch I am. I know I'm a bitch. Worse, I'm a bitch in disguise. I know that, I KNOW that. Tell me why I wanted to kill myself. FUCKING USE YOUR PSYCHOANALYTICAL SHIT AND TELL ME THAT. Tell me why right now I want to outline the 'BITCH' on my left arm with a blade. TELL ME.

I know there's something wrong with me. It goes away and it comes back, and I can pretend, but it probably isn't gone for good. I KNOW there's something wrong with me, you don't need to tell me that. Tell me WHY.

Tell me why I'm crying right now. Tell me why I'm hurting. And okay, fine, while you're at it, try and tell me why I'm a bitch too, that'd be nice to know. I like to think it's genes, though.

Don't love me. Don't love me don't love me don't love me I will not let you love me, even if you wanted to.

Nobody in their right mind who knew me inside out would ever love me. EVER.

I'm stupid ugly fat useless malicious evil sly sneaky jealous insecure as hell and the thing I read's right if I don't love myself no one will love me.

"Shut up, bitch!"

I'm a bitch I'm a bitch I'm a bitch I'm a bitch I KNOWWWWWW.

I don't love you. I don't love anyone. No one loves me. I don't care, I don't need love. I don't need anybody.

Oh, so now I'm a liar as well.

It's fne if you hate me I hate me too.

Im starting tothink that maybe it would've been better if I had killed myself. People would be happier. I cause d all this I am a bitch, this is all my faut .

Wile cleaning my room the other day I went throguh some of my old stuff and found that my mom had stord some of my parents' old stuff in my room. That included a plasdtic bag of sewing stuff with a sharp penknife blade thing as well as an old-fashioned shaver, also still sharp . And at the tiem, I was like, "WHY?!"

I guess I soould probably keep away from them, right?

Jan, please don't.

I'm sorry, this is just really, really stupid. Idek what got into me last night, I don't usually even think like this. I'm sorry.



Adrisole you, Rita, Linzy. <a

ME TOO CAUSE I LOVE MY JAN. <3 Bwah.

Moi aussi. >a

Gah, fine Jenna. >:P

HEY JAN
i'm listening to david archuuuleta.
you got to me.

Omg, you people bring the lulz like no one else does.

Archieee! ZERO GRAVITY IS LOVE, OKAY.

IAU ALL SO SO MUCH

LIZZY I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU HERE IN FOREVER OMG.



Imissyouuu!

And IAY2. <aaa