January 1, 2017.

Thirteen is such a big leap from twelve. Soon, high school will be here. I'm a teenager, I can feel change upon me. And I'm scared. Maybe it's just me overthinking. My therapist told me to write my feelings down, but I know I'll probably lose this book, so what's the harm anyways.

December 20, 2019.

What are the odds that I would find this here a little over two years after my first and only entry? I'm fifteen now, and I'm in a relationship with this boy. He makes me so happy, and sometimes I feel grown enough to make decisions for myself. I want to be with him, he told me he wants to be with me. More than just hand holding, you know? Real intimacy. I'm not sure what to think, but I love him. Maybe one day we'll be like that, but we've been dating for around a week, so maybe not just yet.

December 24, 2019.

It's almost midnight and I'm writing in here with a tear stained face. I couldn't tell my father what happened. It would break his heart to know what happened to his little girl. You know that boy I was talking about? He did something. I cant even seem to write it in here. I hate myself. Why did I let this happen? Why was I so blind?

May 17, 2020.

I'm so tired of being treated like a doormat. Sometimes I feel the only place I have to turn to when things get rough is you. I'm never consistent with you, but writing down my emotions feels right. Sometimes I feel like I'm fighting a battle I know is going to lose. High school sucks. I lost all of my friends, I'm basically a social outcast. Most days all my dad does is drink. He's not how he used to be with me. Says I'm a problematic teen.

August 5, 2020.

I think I've had enough. I'm so tired. I'm exhausted, really. These meds don't work anymore. My father has gotten far worse. I'm alone in this world, really. Maybe I would be better off with my mother in death. If I told my therapist I'm sure she'd just tell my father and put me in a psych ward. I don't want to give my father a reason to call me problematic.

January 12, 2021.

I'm 18, but it doesn't really matter. I don't really care for celebrations. There's not much of a life to celebrate. These past five months have been hell. Guess who ended up in a psych ward? Yeah, me. For a month. I'm still behind on school work because of it. Senior year sucks. Everyone in this school sucks and my father? He's the cherry on the sundae. He calls me a worthless excuse for a daughter, maybe if I wasn't here he wouldn't have to worry about that.

September 28, 2021.

This is my final entry. I'm sorry I didn't write in you more. Thank you for being there for me in my darkest moments. It's time for me to finally let everything go. I don't think I left much an impact on this world, but one thing's for sure, whatever's waiting for me on the other side has to be better than being alone in this wretched place. Maybe my father will finally love me.

She never wrote in that journal again.

September 28, 2022.

It's been a year since you've last breathed on this Earth, and my therapist recommended journaling. I found this in your belongings I didn't have the heart to look through until now. Please, forgive this foolish old man. I know nothing I say now can fix anything, but just know that I'm getting the help that I need, and I never got to tell you how proud I was of you. I love you.