I'm starting this entirely for myself. My mother insisted it would help me communicate. I haven't been feeling very healthy lately, and life hasn't been right... I'm not where I thought I'd be.
Today in my closet we found an old diary I kept . I started the diary at a young age, and quit adding entries a few years back. My life stains the pages- they're whithered and torn.
My mother insists I express my feelings. She insists lots of things. She's more concerned with what I wrote, I think. She asks daily to read it. We're fighting constantly. Besides, the discovery is hers to claim. She comes in my room one day and begins sorting through my closet, while I'm on my bed reading a book. I put a bookmark in and ask her what she's doing. What is she looking for? I get up and go over to her, making sure to stay out of her way. She says she's cleaning the house. She knows what a mess I keep my room. If she doesn't clean it, who will?
With the way this turned out, It looks like I will be posting bits of my diary in the upcoming months. My mother has insisted. Excerpts from my life will be displayed for the amusement of whoever. And for my own good. No one else has anything to gain from this...
