1. Forgotten Pages
I am not one who religiously keeps a diary and can’t remember the last time I ever wrote in one. This one will go the same way the others went...in the bin. Sure, I’ll write in here for a few days, a week tops, and then sling it out because I’ve lost all interest in writing about my life. When you’re teased by the entire male school population, you have nothing to write about anyway but I’ve decided to give it a try. Again. You never know, something interesting might happen to me, but I’m pretty sure it won’t.
They say keeping a diary keeps you from hitting rock bottom, from becoming severely depressed and getting over traumatic experiences but what help can this lump of shit really be? After all, it is just a hardback cover with lined paper rammed inside. Nothing magic about it. Unless you count the Nemo and Dory stickers my little sister stuck all over the cover of course. Everyone knows fish can’t talk so why give little children the hope? Why build up their dreams, their hopes and their expectations? It will cause nothing but disappointment when a five year old child has stared endlessly into a tank, hoping the starfish will suddenly grow an animated face like the one in the film. It’s just sick.