Dear Diary

Dear Diary

April 4th, 2019

Diary entry #5

I needed her to read it. She brought my laundry in a pink bin. The plastic bent as it pressed against her belly. She sat the bin down on the fuzzy carpet of my bedroom and gently slid open each of my wooden drawers. She tucked my black and white crop top and baggy sweatpants into the drawers. She laid my plaid skirt and olive green jeans down as if she were putting them to sleep. She reached for the bottom drawer where my socks resided and picked up my diary. The back of my neck felt wet, as if I had run a mile. My heart began to throw a temper tantrum as the blanket I used to cover my body sucked the oxygen out of my chest. I peaked my eyes through a tiny crack of the cotton cover. She let the book sink into her soft hands as she stood there, frozen. That book contained what I could not put into words. I needed her to feel it. I laid still, silently encouraging her to read it. She obliged. She read each entry as if she was trying to read a language she could not not speak. My handwriting could not have been that bad. Her head swayed as it followed the indents I had created with my gel pen. As she read her face grew red and her muscles stiffened. She was reading his sins. She gasped and quickly covered her mouth trying not to wake me. My mom whimpered with her hands shielding her mouth closed. She could not stop the guilt from leaking out. Then she placed my book back into the drawer, shut it, and crept out with her hands still covering her mouth. I guess I won’t be seeing Dr. Kite’s coffee-stained smile anymore.

February 15th, 2019

THIS IS STUPID,

I am still trying to figure out how I should start off my entries, so bear with me. I won’t be using the cliche “Dear Diary-” that’s typical and I am far from typical. Dr. Kite suggested that I get a diary after our first session yesterday. Right after, my mom dragged me to a Barnes and Nobles and told me to pick one out. Going to her church wasn’t helping me, and she couldn’t communicate with me, so she decided therapy would do. She wanted me to express my feelings better, and she thought therapy would give me a chance to let out my anger. I preferred Dillian Shaws’ face. I rolled my eyes and grabbed a blue one. The pages were yellow as if they had been made in the 1800s. It looked like the Bible. Maybe it would become mine. I still don’t understand why I’m even going to a therapist. You get into a couple of fights with half-witted cheerleaders and suddenly you’re cuckoo. Our first session was awkward, to say the least. His office was on the sixth floor of a long gray building right next to a McDonald’s. Maybe after parents force their children to blab about their issues they reward them with soggy french fries with extra salt.

His office had a huge window that was behind his desk. The walls were coated a pale white color. All over, he had biblical paintings and crosses that Jesus laid sullenly from. It was as if him and my mom were the same person. Hopefully he won’t preach to me too. We sat on a long, brown leather chair that had cracks on the edges which showed the fabric inside. Dr. Kite sat in front of us in a rollie chair. Right behind him was the Last Supper. Jesus would also get to judge me ...great! Dr. Kite was tall and fair skinned. His hair was nicely done; he looked like a fashion designer.

He attempted to get to know me, asking things like, “What grade are you in? What’s your name? What do you like to do?” yadda yadda yadda.

“I am Kacey Waters, I’m in 11th grade, I like to listen to music,” I said.

“Great, why do you think you’re here?”

“I am here because my mom overreacts and your sessions are the most expensive,” I respond with the biggest grin.

“Kacey, play nice. Dr.Kite wants to help you,” my mom said.

He smiles back showing all his yellowing teeth. They are identical as they stand at attention. You can tell he drinks too much coffee. “Kacey, can you step out? I need to talk to your mother alone,” he responded.

February 17, 2019

Salutations common people,

That has a ring to it. Anyways, I am in deep shit with my mom. This morning she dragged me to church. I thought we were done with this whole “Jesus can save you” experiment. Saint Bernard church was filled with golden, wooden rows. It had a linty purple carpet that looked like it hadn’t been replaced since my mother was a child. My mom had been going here since she was three and she thought bringing me here would help my anger problems. She thought God was the solution to everything. “Just pray”, “Just have faith”, “God will protect you.” It’s all a bunch of bullshit. I think my mom realized I felt like this and stopped trying to console me all together. As per usual, the Pastor came and preached while I slept. Usually, my mom is too caught up in her spiritual mode to spot me sleeping behind the service pamphlet. I guess not today. Welp, thanks Pastor Frank, you got me grounded.

February 19, 2019

Did you miss me,

My mom just let me off the hook today. She came into my room with a peanut butter and banana sandwich, my fav. She makes me that sandwich whenever she feels guilty for something. She sat at the edge of my bed and apologized, “I am sorry Kacey for being so hard on you.” Why was she apologizing to me? “I’m just really worried about you,” her voice cracks a little when she says that. I wrap my left arm around her head and pulled it into my chest. I grab the sandwich with my right arm. That sandwich. Was. Wonderful.

March 6, 2019

Hello, world,

In our session today, I tell Dr. Kite that lonely is exactly how I feel at that stupid ass high school. Everyone there puts on a mask to perform in front of their friends like clowns. He rubs his freshly shaved face and sips his coffee, encouraging me to keep going. I tell him how Allison Heff gave me a dirty look in the bathroom and how I thought about ripping her pretty blonde hair out of her head and using it as a paper towel for my hands. It feels good to vent about my classmates. I still don’t believe I need a therapist. I talked shit about Kevin Jewel, who taped a note on my locker saying, “Kacey can I make you water?” When I see him I show no signs of weakness, but I make sure he feels weak when I kick him in the shin. Gregory Evans butted in front of me in the lunch line, claiming he did not see me. I tugged his book bag so hard that his body collapsed to the ground. I stepped over his body making sure he saw me. I took my rightful place in line until I was sent to the office. Maya Pewdiline giggled when I walked past her in the hallway, she pointed out that my shoes are “so last season”. Who the hell cares about that? I smiled and kept walking, trying to resist the urge of pulling her shiny leather jacket off of her and tearing it into two. High school students remind me of religious people. They follow something that they have no proof even exists. They believe being cool is tied to being like everyone else. They believe in religion because they don’t know how to be an independent being. They are scared of the future and latched onto this idea that God will make sure everything is alright.

He jotted down notes in a tiny notepad, nodding after every pause I made. I felt like a celebrity being interviewed by TMZ, giving them “the tea” about my personal life. No pictures, please.

March 13, 2019

Here is the scoop,

I know I’m still working on the whole introduction thing. Yesterday’s session was the weirdest shit ever. I strolled into Dr. Kite’s office ready to spurt out all the complaints I had of my fellow classmates this week. Dr. Kite asked me to sit down and asked my mom to leave the room, saying he needed to speak to me alone for this session. He flashed his corn kernel teeth at her. My mom hugged me, her body heat warmed the blonde peach fuzz on my arms. She kissed my forehead and wagged her finger at me telling me to be nice. Why am I always considered the problem? As the black door shut, a sickening heat entered the room. It felt like hell. The temperature pulled and tugged at my skin. It was weird because I wasn’t sweating.

“Is it alright if I ask you some questions, Kacey?”

“Depends,” I say skeptically, still trying to figure out why the inside of my body was burning.

“Have you ever had sex?”

I’m not shitting you. That is what he asked me. If you’re weirded out, imagine how I felt sitting across from him as his tall stature towered over mine. I squeezed my eyebrows and mouth close together and signaled for the next question.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“That’s none of your business,” I retorted. Why he wanted to know these things still puzzles me. I thought therapy was talking about your problems, not being asked weird questions by a man with a coffee addiction. Dr. Kite and the seven Jesuses stood silent, waiting for my answer. I grabbed my bookbag, swung it over my shoulder and left the room. I still don’t understand why it was so damn hot in there.

March 27, 2019

I don’t know anymore,

He touched me yesterday. I went in alone again. He told me to lay down on the brown leather seat and close my eyes. “Breathe in,” he whispered. I was totally weirded out, but I felt that I gave him a hard time in our past sessions, so I let my eyelids rest. The last thing I saw was the seven Jesuses looking down on me. They knew what was going to happen next. They wouldn’t help me like my mom preached they would. I felt the pressure of his hand as he laid his hand on my leg. I still feel it. I flinched and tried to move it but I couldn’t because his body pressed over me. The air between us was being squashed by the closeness of our bodies. I kicked, I squirmed, I rolled. He finally released me from his rough grip. I fixed my skirt and wiped my tears from my face. I stormed out of his office trying not to break down. I am still trying not to break down now. I can’t show vulnerability. That’s exactly what they want. I feel like punching someone’s fucking head off.

March 28, 2019

Here goes nothing,

Today I got into an altercation with Jake Montalvo. The bell had just rung and I was trying to get to my next class with the least amount of human interaction as possible. He ran into me, causing my note books to fall to the ground. My papers spread across the tiled floor like glass being shattered. He tried to apologize but before he could I punched him square in the nose. It felt good. My papers on the floor had crimson poka dots all over them. I was suspended. During the car ride home, my mom asked me why was I so angry. Usually I just say I’m not and continue on my way but today was different. Tears began to shriek down my face. My hands shook and my face began to heat up. My mom stopped the car.

“Kacey, what’s wrong baby?” I just softly cried. Why couldn’t I talk? Why couldn’t I tell her how I felt? For so long I had bottled my feelings in. The bottle had finally been shaken and everything was exploding out.

April 4th, 2019

Diary entry #5

She sat my laundry on the fuzzy carpet next to my bunny slippers. As she put my clothes into the drawer they belonged in, she saw the blue book covered by a pair of miss matched socks. She grabbed the book from the drawer. It lay heavy in her hands. She struggled to open it, the weight being too heavy for her. I wrote in it how I felt. My feelings were too complex to be spewed out of my mouth. My heart began to punch through my chest. I felt as if I were suffocating just as I was when I was compressed between the chair and his body. I laid silent, pushing her to read the words that I had hidden in that book from her. She flipped the hardcover open, revealing the holy words that would change our lives. She carefully studied the words that I had resisted to place on the paper. As she read, her face became pale and her muscles tensed. She had finally discovered the devil was real and her God was not as powerful as she thought. Her hands began to seize as she dropped the book like it was too hot for her to hold. She picked it up and slid it back in its place. As she turned to leave, I saw the tears from her face forcing their way down her soft cheeks. She reached for my blanket but shot her hand back to her mouth, guarding the sorrow from escaping . She walked out of the room. The door shut quietly behind her. I won’t be seeing Dr. Kite’s coffee-stained smile anymore.