EgoManiac

Hiding From Reality

Hiding From Reality:

A cold breeze blows across my face waking me up. It's dark out now, I reach for my phone twenty missed mostly from Brad. And a bunch of messages asking where I was. I click Brad's name to call him, the phone barely rings before I hear Brad yelling at me "Where the bloody hell are you"?!. "Tree" is all I get out before my phone dies. not wanting to leave in the dark , without a light, I decided to look around the treehouse.

Having only the moonlight shining through the window I can't see a lot. There's a bunch of old drawings along the walls, in the corner is a table with some crayons and papers. I spotted the outline of something under the corner of the beanbag I had fallen asleep on. Gently moving it I find my old doll in surprisingly good condition. "Penny, look at you. I looked everywhere for you for months" I say as I run a hang through her hair. I let out a chuckle and held her close. Remembering when I got her for my 7th birthday from my grandmother before she passed away. I wipe the tears from my face and notice a pile of books on the other side of me. I set the penny on my lap and grab the top book.

I can't make out what it is, being on the top this one was the worst condition due to weather and such. I set it aside and grab the next one it wasn't in much better condition but I could at least make out some of the title. It was one of the boxcar children books that I used to be obsessed with along with so many other mystery series. I sat it down and continued to go through the books it was mostly more mystery books. I picked up the last one it doesn't look like the others. There's no title, just a black cover. Like an old diary? I snuggle up in my seat with penny and open the book.

"I'm not sure what I'm supposed to write. I never wrote in one of these before but my counselor thought it might help me. I have to hide it in the tree house though so mom and dad won't find it. Mom doesn't believe in dealing with emotions and problems. Besides she'd just read it and use it all against me anyways. I'm not even sure what to write I mean I have an okay life, there's definitely things I would change but I know it could be worse mom tells me all time about how her childhood how her parents would beat her and starve her and so many things so do I really have any room to complain We have food and clothes So why do I still feel so sad all the time like my life Isn't important? Like if I just ran away one day it would not matter would change life for anyone. They would just go on living there lives like nothing happened..."

I closed the book, reading in the little bit of light was difficult. How come I don't remember writing this? Or having a diary at all? How old was I? We stopped coming up here when we hit high school, and my spelling wasn't the best so maybe middle school? I vaguely remember getting into writing in fifth grade. I don't remember seeing a counselor though mom wouldn't have allowed that. I blocked out a lot of middle school though, I lost my cousin back then and uncle. School was a mess with everyone having different things to say about the situation. Maybe that's why I saw a counselor to deal with grief that sounds like something that would have been highly recommended by the school.

I let out a yawn and decided to try and go back to sleep, I'm not gonna get anywhere in the dark without some kind of light. Holding onto a penny I let my mind wonder as I drift back to sleep..