My Diary

01/05

Dear Diary,

It is the first time I do something like this. I don’t even know why I’m writing this now. It is so stupid and pointless but my therapist absolutely wants me to start writing a diary in order to put words on my feelings, thoughts, needs, dreams, emotions… tough things in my life that she loves calling “traumas”. Seriously, do I look like some main character of Disney or Netflix series? I just think it is uninteresting and a waste of time to keep sharing, talking… well, in my case, writing about my past, my feelings or my inner thoughts, especially when I don’t want to. Who cares? Sometimes, I wish I could tell Mrs Vaz Orniglia to leave me alone and stop seeing her… but then, I remember that she’s just trying to do her job with me and that I’m completely on my own. No one cares if I’m a broken, bleeding mess, so I just don’t care anymore. Everything seems so meaningless and insurmountable right now: studies, writing, social interactions, getting up and leaving my bed… life itself if I’m being honest.

KS

01/18

Dear Diary,

Today, I saw my father… or let’s just say the stranger who used to yell at me when I was a child. I was literally and officially homeless after she put me out on the street. My sisters and my brother blocked my number on their phones and the only friends I have are virtual ones. A mixture of anger, pain, fear and disbelief was washing over me as I just kept walking, walking, walking… He suddenly appeared out of nowhere, making me squeal, and decided to follow me even though I told him to leave me alone. He wasn’t there when mom shut the door in my face in the most humiliating way possible after throwing me outside with nothing but my phone and clothes, so I didn’t need him. In fact, he was never there. Anyway, I was freezing and the sky was turning into a scary shade of deep blue so I eventually decided to listen to him and let him bring me to his place, considering I really had no choice. It was and still is so weird and embarrassing… but here I am, laying on this tiny bed. My father shares this apartment with two or three other men and now, I’m the one sharing a little messy bedroom with him. It is obvious that nobody cleans up here and I must admit that I don’t feel safe at all but it really seems like I’m stuck here for a long time… so I guess it’ll do for now.

KS

01/21

Dear Diary,

It has been three days since the last time. Have you missed me? How are you doing? Am I clinically insane for talking to my diary? Well… writing, to be more specific. Whatever. I feel lonely. Really lonely. I called the therapist this morning and told her I won’t see her anymore. I have been struggling with severe anxiety and depression for years now, a few more weeks or months won’t hurt. My father is working whereas I’m still laying in bed like some hideous corpse, mentally and physically numb. I really hate being here. Besides, my eyes are so red and puffy from crying all night which is so ugly and annoying. Anyway, I tried to distract myself by watching series and listening to music on my phone but Eddie’s deep voice is driving me insane. He must be sitting in the kitchen (my father forbade me to leave the room unless I want to pee, so I don’t really know) but I can clearly hear him, the obscenities that escape his mouth, making me shudder with repugnance. My little brother and sisters keep ghosting me because of my mother and it hurts. It hurts so badly that I just want to scream at the top of my lungs. It hurts to much that I only want to take out my own heart. It hurts so much that I can’t even feel the pain anymore. Am I empty?

KS

01/25

Dear Diary,

When I was eleven years old, I wanted to become a talented fashion designer. When I was thirteen years old, I wanted to become a famous actress. When I was fourteen years old, I wanted to become a popular singer. As long as I remember, I’ve always loved, dreamt of and wanted so many things. I don’t know when, where or how, but at some point, I realized that I just love creating. I love creating beautiful things, songs, complex characters and stories. I started to write at the age of twelve: I enjoyed writing fanfictions, especially funny, dramatic ones about my favorite romantic pairings. It gave me the power to escape reality and just be totally free. Everything is possible when I imagine stories and that’s amazing. Writing is the most wonderful and magical thing ever. It helped me during the scariest and darkest moments of my life… There’s nothing more exciting and comforting than to create characters, relationships, adventures, emotions, feelings, different worlds… My biggest dream is to publish a myriad of books full of hope, full of tragedy, full of life. I want my future readers to identify to my characters. I want to finally have a voice. My voice.

KS

02/14

Dear Diary,

It has been a long time. Today, I signed up for a gym membership. I know, it’s the worst idea of the year, but I just wanted to feel like I actually did something good for myself. I have been doing nothing for weeks. No shower, no friends to hang out with, no hobbies or studies. Nothing. I feel like I’m stuck in this horrible jail with my father and three middle-aged men. Moreover, I keep thinking about the fact that I dropped medical school and engineering school, that we’re halfway through the year and that I absolutely don’t know what to do with my life. I’m so lost and overwhelmed, my intrusive thoughts spinning around in circles. The perfect student who always had the best marks is gone. She’s exhausted. Lost. Overwhelmed. Mother must be right: I’m a useless failure with no future. I don’t even know what to do about it, where to begin… I don’t know what I want or love because no one has ever asked me about my true desires, dreams or life goals. My heart beats like a drum, hurting my chest, every time the words “studies” and “future” appear in my mind. I’m truly capable of nothing.

KS