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ng some great injustice。
of course； mother took margots side； they always take each others sides。 im so used to it that ive bee pletely indifferent to mothers rebukes and margots moodiness。 i love them； but only because theyre mother and margot。 i dont give a darn about them as people。 as far as im concerned； they can go jump in a lake。 its different with father。 when i see him being partial to margot； approving margots every action； praising her； hugging her； i feel a gnawing ache inside； because im crazy about him。 i model myself after father； and theres no one in the world i love more。
he doesnt realize that he treats margot differently than he does me： margot just happens to be the smartest； the kindest； the prettiest and the best。 but i have a right to be taken seriously too。 ive always been the clown and mischief maker of the family； ive always had to pay double for my sins： once with scoldings and then again with my own sense of despair。 im no longer satisfied with the meaningless affection or the supposedly serious talks。 i long for something from father that hes incapable of giving。 im not jealous of margot； i never have been。 im not envious of her brains or her beauty。 its just that id like to feel that father really loves me； not because im his child； but because im me； anne。
i cling to father because my contempt of mother is growing daily and its only through him that im able to retain the last ounce of family feeling i have left。 he doesnt understand that i sometimes need to vent my feelings for mother。 he doesnt want to talk about it； and he avoids any discussion involving mothers failings。 and yet mother； with all her shortings； is tougher for me to deal with。 i dont know how i should act。 i cant very well confront her with her carelessness； her sarcasm and her hard…heartedness； yet i cant continue to take the blame for everything。
im the opposite of mother； so of course we clash。 i dont mean to judge her； i dont have that right。 im simply looking at her as a mother。 shes not a mother to me …… i have to mother myself。 ive cut myself adrift from them。 im charting my own course； and well see where it leads me。 i have no choice； because i can picture what a mother and a wife should be and cant seem to find anything of the sort in the woman im supposed to call 〃mother。”
i tell myself time and again to overlook mothers bad example。 i only want to see her good points； and to look inside myself for whats lacking in her。 but it doesnt work； and the worst part is that father and mother dont realize their own inadequacies and how much i blame them for letting me down。 are there any parents who can make
their children pletely happy？
sometimes i think god is trying to test me； both now and in the future。 ill have to bee a good person on my own； without anyone to serve as a model or advise me； but itll make me stronger in the end。
who else but me is ever going to read these letters？ who else but me can i turn to for fort？ im frequently in need of consolation； i often feel weak； and more often than not； i fail to meet expectations。 i know this； and every day i resolve to do better。
they arent consistent in their treatment of me。 one day they say that annes a sensible girl and entitled to know everything； and the next that annes a silly goose who doesnt know a thing and yet imagines shes learned all she needs to know from books！ im no longer the baby and spoiled little darling whose every deed can be laughed at。 i have my own ideas； plans and ideals； but am unable to articulate them yet。
oh well。 so much es into my head at night when im alone； or during the day when im obliged to put up with people i cant abide or who invariably misinterpret my intentions。 thats why i always wind up ing back to my diary …… i start there and end there because kittys always patient。 i promise her that； despite everything； ill keep going； that ill find my own way and choke back my tears。 i only wish i could see some results or； just once； receive encouragement from someone who loves me。
dont condemn me； but think of me as a person who sometimes reaches the bursting point！
yours； anne
monday； november 9；1942
dearest kitty；
yesterday was peters birthday； his sixteenth。 i was upstairs by eight； and peter and i looked at his presents。 he received a game of monopoly； a razor and a cigarette lighter。 not that he smokes so much； not at all； it just looks so distinguished。
the biggest surprise came from mr。 van daan； who reported at one that the english had landed in tunis； algiers； casablanca and oran。
〃this is the beginning of the end；〃 everyone was saying； but churchill； the british prime minister； who must have heard the same thing being repeated in england； declared； 〃this is not the end。 it is not even the beginning of the end。 but it is； perhaps； the end of the beginning。〃 do you see the difference？ however； theres reason for optimism。 stalingrad； the russian city that has been under attack for three months； still hasnt fallen into german hands。
in the true spirit of the annex； i should talk to you about food。 （i should explain that theyre real gluttons up on the top floor。）
bread is delivered daily by a very nice baker； a friend of mr。 kleimans。 of course； we dont have as much as we did at home； but its enough。 we also purchase ration books on the black market。 the price keeps going up； its already risen from 27 to 33 guilders。 and that for mere sheets of printed paper！
to provide ourselves with a source of nutrition that will keep； aside from the hundred cans of food weve stored here； we bought three hundred pounds of beans。 not just for us； but for the office staff as well。 wed hung the sacks of beans on hooks in the hallway； just inside our secret entrance； but a few seams split under the weight。 so we decided to move them to the attic； and peter was entrusted with the heavy lifting。
he managed to get five of the siacks upstairs intact and was busy with the last one when the sack broke and a flood； or rather a hailstorm； of brown beans went flying through the air and down the stairs。 since there were about fifty pounds of beans in that sack； it made enough noise to raise the dead