Check, Please?

Chapter 1

Dear Diary,

        I don't even know how i should write in one of these. Don't get me wrong it's not my first time writing in a diary... I've just never been able to keep up with one. I guess this time I have too. Not because I want to but because Doctor Lane says I have too. She's so strict sometimes. I see her to get better... not to be treated like I'm in jail/

        Anyways if I'm going to be stuck writting in you a lot I might as well give you a name and you know... tell you the basics about myself. Since I can't think of a name at the moment I am just going to start off telling you about me. Maybe I'll figure out your name in the middle of a thought.,

        So... telling myself about myself... will i am seventeen years old. I live in Savannah, Georgia. I am a southern Belle... without a doubt. I attend Sol C. Johnson High School. I am part of the international Baccalaureate programme. Its this program that allows me to get ahead. It's a pain in my tush that's what it is. I don't participate in any extra curricular activities except for art. Cause why would I need anything else? Yes i do community service... only because IB (international Baccalaureate) requires me to.

        Well now you know school me... so here's appearance me.... I am five foot seven inches. I'm taller than most girls however what makes me happy is I am tall enough to be allowed to apply for this scholarship. My hair is red, and no i did not dye it. My mother believes that dying my hair will kill it. My eyes.. well they change colors... sometimes they are  bright green, sometimes they are a crystal clear grey and sometimes they are an ocean blue. Let's just say my eyes scare the crap out of people. I am not skinny... but then again I am not fat. I am what some people call thick. I have thunder thighs and watermelons for boobs. I have a stomach that includes a muffin top however its not the hanging over my pants omg that's so gross type. It's more like a I stick out a little however i don't cover my belt. Now for my skin... My face is covered in freckles however the rest of my body is this perfect sun-kissed tan. Thank God for the sun! I always wonder why I don't burn.

        Now... I guess you can see behind the great curtains of the wonderful OZ. ( I like to pronounce it O-Z each letter separate).. well.. I really don't want to talk about this... it's kind of hard.

        Well. My mom died when I was 10 years old, Prior to that my dad left us. Mom said it was because he couldn't take being a dad... mostly because I reminded him to much of his dead mother. Which I guess you can call my dead grandmother? Anyways I went to live with my most favorite person in the whole world... My grandfather. But guess what? He died a year later and I ended up in foster care. I wasn't there long, soon this young couple picked me up. Honestly I wish they'd left me behind. The lady, her name was Grace. She was sweet to me at the beginning. Bought me all these pretty clothes and make up. You know all the stuff twelve year old girls wanted. Then I found out why she was buying me all these pretty things when Marc (the guy) showed up in my room one night to have a "tickle fight" that I'm not ready to explain in depth. And well Diary you can see how that went, and it continued for a few years. Well six to be exact. It got worse but that's a story for another time. I am tired of talking about this subject.

        The reason i am writing in this stupid thing ( no offense... uh still haven't given you a name) is because my crazy Doctor thinks writing down my thoughts will help me with my problems. What are my problems? The same problems most kids my age have: depression, suicidal, anxiety, PTSD, and self harm. Honestly I don't want to get better. I shouldn't even be writing in this. Nothing is ever going to get better.-

        
       I slammed that stupid diary close. What was I thinking. I can't write in a stupid journal. It's not going to work. Nothing works, except.... I grabbed my back pack and left the house, I couldn't stay there any longer. I couldnt't breathe. I walked down the boring suburban street to the bus stop, All the white picket fences made me sick. It was a unrealistic reality. I needed to go to the graveyard. Where is this damn bus--