Me.

I don't want to be like everyone else anymore. And even more so, I don't want to want to be like everyone else.

I'm pretty hard on myself, and I throw a lot of extravagant pity parties for poor ol' Jen. But maybe who I am isn't so bad.

So what if things aren't how I planned them to be when I was growing up? Who really knows anything about life at 16? All I was basing my dreams and visions on were the outcomes of others' lives. And those people undoubtedly went through their share of not-fun, depressing times.

I've really never been one to hate myself. In fact, I've always pretty much loved everything about me. This past year has changed that, for sure, but whose fault is that other than mine? And whose fault is it if it stays that way? Again, mine.

I'll never be model-thin or basketball-player tall. I'll never have a Whitney voice or Cindy Crawford looks. But what keeps me from building an Oprah empire or joining the socialites of NYC? Maybe I'll never get to those places in my life, but I'll certainly never get there if I don't try.

I know what I want, but those things seem to hate my guts.

And when no one wants you to stay, you have no other choice but to go.