THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL : THE DEFINITIVE EDITION ... - Fidele

I think Mother believes that Margot and I have a better relationship with our
parents than anyone in the whole wide world, and that no mother is more involved
in the lives of her children than she is. She must have my sister in mind, since I
don't believe Margot has the same problems and thoughts as I do. Far be it from me
to point out to Mother that one of her daughters is not at all what she imagines.
She'd be completely bewildered, and anyway, she'd never be able to change; I'd
like to spare her that grief, especially since I know that everything would remain
the same. Mother does sense that Margot loves her much more than I do, but she
thinks I'm just going through a phase.
Margot's gotten much nicer. She seems a lot different than she used to be. She's
not nearly as catty these days and is becoming a real friend. She no longer thinks
of me as a litde kid who doesn't count.
It's funny, but I can sometimes see myself as others see me. I take a leisurely
look at the person called "Anne Frank" and browse through the pages of her life as
though she were a stranger.
Before I came here, when I didn't think about things as much as I do now, I
occasionally had the feeling that I didn't belong to Momsy, Pim and Margot and
that I would always be an outsider. I sometimes went around for six months at a
time pretending I was an orphan. Then I'd chastise myself for playing the victim,
when really, I'd always been so fortunate. After that I'd force myself to be
friendly for a while. Every morning when I heard footsteps on the stairs, I hoped
it would be Mother coming to say good morning. I'd greet her warmly, because I
honesly did look forward to her affectionate glance. But then she'd snap at me for
having made some comment or other (and I'd go off to school feeling completely
discouraged.
On the way home I'd make excuses for her, telling myself that she had so many
worries. I'd arrive home in high spirits, chatting nineteen to the dozen, until
the events of the morning would repeat themselves and I'd leave the room with my
schoolbag in my hand and a pensive look on my face. Sometimes I'd decide to stay
angry, but then I always had so much to talk about after school that I'd forget my
resolution and want Mother to stop whatever she was doing and lend a willing ear.
Then the time would come once more when I no longer listened for the steps on the
stairs and felt lonely and cried into my pillow every night.
Everything has gotten much worse here. But you already knew that. Now God has sent
someone to help me: Peter. I fondle my pendant, press it to my lips and think,
"What do I care! Petel is mine and nobody knows it!" With this in mind, I can rise
above every nasty remark. Which of the people here would suspect that so much is
going on in the mind of a teenage girl?
SATURDAY, JANUARY 15, 1944
My dearest Kitty,
There's no reason for me to go on describing all our quarrels and arguments down
to the last detail. It's enough to tell you that we've divided many things like
meat and fats and oils and are frying our own potatoes. Recently we've been eating
a little extra rye bread because by four o'clock we're so hungry for dinner we can
barely control our rumbling stomachs.
Mother's birthday is rapidly approaching. She received some extra sugar from Mr.
Kugler, which sparked off jealousy on the part of the van Daans, because Mrs. van
D. didn't receive any on her birthday. But what's the point of boring you with