athena

page twelve

dear diary,

since i was a kid, i knew what i wanted in life. i'd travel the world and join any CIA team. i'd have two children and a partner who loved me for who i was. i'd name our kids brielle and amara.

but now i laugh at all of that. there's no way i could do all of that. my life ill forever stay the same. i haven't been showing up to therapy, but i've been writing constantly. writing my thoughts just seem much easier than explaining out loud.

when i was a kid, id tell mamma i wanted two cats. i told her how i saw my future and she always used to tell me i could achieve it all. she gave me the courage i needed.

i dropped out of school in eight grade. i used to be at the top of my class, and then i stopped trying. my teachers asked me if i was okay, and i told them what they wanted to hear. i haven't gone in two years.

mostly, i teach myself. i read mamma's old books and homework from highschool. i studied what i needed to know for CIA, and it felt like i was homeschooled.

when i told pappa i dropped out, he didn't seem to care. he told me i made the right choice, because i belonged in the kitchen. i belonged in the house. i was made to clean, cook, and to take care of the family. i truly hate him. i wanted to prove him wrong, but i knew i couldn't. i'm stuck here forever, anyway.

i normally get the house to myself, but sometimes pappa brings his gang here. sweden's crime levels rank 51st out of all the countries. i really don't know what pappa's gang does, but it doesn't feel safe.

normally, pappa brings them on a friday. i make sure i have what i need to stay in my room all day, such as food, water and a bucket, knowing i won't be able to go to the bathroom.

they blast rock music and the whole house vibrates. i hate when they come here. the day after, the house is always a mess, and pappa doesn't even bother cleaning up. i spend most saturdays to clean the house. if i don't, then no one will. i make sure it looks the same as when mamma left.

sometimes, i go into the attic. pappa put all of mamma's belongings up there. he said there was no more space for her in this house, which upset me lots. i go through her things, and even discover items i didn't know she owned.

mamma owned a lot of diaries and books, and i spend my time stuffing my nose in them. i find mamma fascinating, it was like i was in her head. maybe that's what kept me writing. maybe i hoped someone would understand me the way i did with mamma just by her writing.

she'd talk about her days, her feelings, how things are, anything. she talked about me a lot, saying i was her everything and that she was so lucky to have me.

every two weeks, i open a dresser full of mamma's clothes and wear them. they smell a lot like mamma, and it feels like she's giving me a hug.

when i'm bored, i go up the attic. maybe because i see it as mamma's spot now. i even made a corner full of blankets and pillows, just incase she wanted to lay down. i wonder if she feels tired even if she's dead.

how do they feel? spirits, i mean. where do you go after you die? maybe im scared of death. the after life is unknown, and it's terrifying. what if you don't like it? what if you're treated horribly?

i pray mamma's okay. that she's doing well wherever she is. sometimes, i think she's following me. like my own guardian angel. i like to think that she's always beside me and will never leave me again.

as a child, mamma would always tell me that she knew how i felt. that she understood me.

"hur vet du hur jag känner?" i'd ask her.

"jag är din mamma." she'd tell me. "det är mitt jobb att veta allt om dig."

i loved her so much. for making sure i never felt a drop of sadness. she helped me get up when im down, catch me when i fall, and fight for me when i couldn't.