My Name Is Chloe Read Online Free

that, I think, is the sad ugly truth: Chloe Miller is looking for love . Barf!
    So does this mean I think my parents don’t love me? No, I’m sure they do—in their own impaired way—but their love often seems dependent on me meeting their HIGH expectations. And unfortunately,I seem to do that less and less. Mostly it feels as though they ignore me or simply tolerate me—and then just barely. As if they’re counting the days until I finally grow up and graduate from high school and get outta their picture-perfect lives. That might be an unfair judgment on my part, but it’s just how I feel.
    So am I looking for the love of a boyfriend? Someone to wrap his arms around me and pull me close and whisper sweet secrets in my ear? Well, maybe. Unfortunately, other than Spencer (who’s not bad looking) no one seems to be beating down my door. Would I get involved with Spencer? I’m not sure. And since I’m feeling desperate, who knows? But it would bother me that he’s so into drugs. And he is; I can tell. And I guess I’d be worried that I might get caught up in that world too—purely by association. I just don’t think I’m ready for that.
    So what is it then? Maybe I just need a good friend or two. Someone who understands and accepts me—someone I can talk to. Caitlin was a little like that, but in some ways she always seemed “above” me. Not that she was snooty. Because despite that she hung with the cool crowd, like my brother, she was actually nice. Maybe the problem is that she’s so much older. And, yes, because she seems so perfect. Impossibly and impeccably perfect.
    Oh, I know how she tells me about her flaws and her mistakes and regrets. Like yesterday, she e-mailed me about her horrible roommate in college, saying how she’d really like to just drop-kick her over the nearest goalpost, etc.—well, you get the picture. So, I suppose Caitlin’s not so perfect. But then she’s not here, either.
    It has occurred to me—for some reason a lot this week—that I could try talking to God. (That’s what Caitlin calls it. She hardly ever says “praying” even though I know that’s what she means. But she calls it “talking to God.”) Still, like I’ve already said, this just feels really weird to me. And for a long time, I’ve had some sort of very real blockade that I can’t seem to get around. But now I find myself thinking about it— almost daily . But still I haven’t done it. I’m not sure that I even can. I mean, exactly how do you start something like that anyway? Do you just say, “Hey, God, I wanna talk?” It sounds so strange, demented even. And did I mention crazy ? So maybe I am losing it. Maybe that’s just where I’m heading these days.
    OFF TO CRAZYVILLE
there she goes again
off to crazyville
with her red balloon
and a fat baboon
she talks to herself
and says she talks to god
and that he’s listening
but all she really hears
is the ringing in her ears
and the singing in her brain
as she walks out in the rain
with no shoes on
there she goes again
off to crazyville
cm

Three
Saturday, September 14
    Okay, here’s the latest weird flash. Chloe Miller is talking to God ! Is she crazy? Losing her mind? I’m not sure, but here I am starting to write about myself in third person. That’s probably not so good either. Okay, chill, girl. Just chill.
    It all started yesterday—on Friday the thirteenth even—I should’ve known better than to go to school on such an unlucky day. But I did. For at least half the day anyway. I ended up skipping the second half. Hey, I didn’t say I had suddenly become perfect or even a Christian—I only said that I’ve taken up talking to God. And I suspect he may not even like what I’m saying to him because frankly, he hasn’t talked back. But I suppose I didn’t expect him to. Not really. The surprising thing is that I’m still doing it.
    I went to school yesterday telling myself to be thankful that it was Friday and I’d have two whole days