1. Dear dead notebook
Dear dead notebook. My social worker said that writing a "journal" would bring some peace to my mind. I screamed at her that I had EXTREME peace in my mind. Then I figured she might be right anyway. But theres no way I'm ever going to tell her that.
So, dear dead book who can't answer me back or even read... My room looks kind of big now. Actually it's not my room anymore, it now belongs to someone who I don't know and haven't even met.
It looks huge, because most of my stuff is packed in the suitcase on the middle of the floor. The rest is just my bed and my desk. I wasn't allowed to bring those things with me, wich is understandable I guess. It smells dirty in here. It smells like dust.
In two hours there will be a Taxi at the front door. I will have to say goodbye, and then leave my life for good. The taxi will drive me to the airport, where I will fly to the other end of the country. There's a family waiting for me there.
It'll be amazing. No more annoying kids trying to change channels on the tv. No more afternoon-meetings or annoying care workers telling me to "go for a run" whenever I'm the slightest bit angry with someone. But, even though I'm happy to get rid of all those things, I'm still sitting in my room feeling sad and feverish because I've been crying for the last hour or so. I'm not even the kind of person who cries. It just kind'a hit me. My dad will be here in a second to say goodbye :)