Janine

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I'm Janine. Not "juh nine," "juh neen." I can't stand when people say my name wrong.  Janine Davis. I'm 17.  I hate my school.  I hate the people there.  I only have one friend, London.  She makes that school somewhat tolerable.  Anyways, I'm biracial, 5'10..  NO, I do NOT play basketball, or ANY sport for that matter.  I DO however, write poetry sometimes, sing with my God awful voice & binge watch multiple shows on Netflix.  What's a social life? I don't party or go out.  My house is my safe haven.  Well, to an extent.  There's my crippling anxiety.  That "why don't they like me," thought every now and again.  My self esteem is admittedly low.  WELL, it's unstable as hell. I love me for a few months, then I go right back to wallowing in my self hate. Fun..
Relationships? WHAT ARE THOSE? I mean seriously.  Those are my death traps right there.  I find a man..  nah, I find immature little boys who don't know how to act, DISGUISED as a man.  The ones who make me feel like I overreact, when in reality they only fuck with me for my body.  Thank you, insecurity.  You really help me... GOD, somebody help me... oh wait, nobody can handle me.  Nobody appreciates me.  But I'm supposed to be happy.  Yeah, right.  I can't give too much away in the first chapter of this autobiographical work of fiction. So for now, you know enough about me.