Locked In These Pages

December 1, 2014 - Esme

Dear Journal, 

First things first, I am not, and never will, call you "Diary." No. I am not the type. Besides, you are here to listen. Not to give me feedback on what I should call you. I have been through a lot lately and need someone to turn to. Funny actually, I never found that someone. I found you. Not exactly a someone no offense. Well, I should give you a brief summary of my life so far. So, here goes.

When I was born I was the perfect baby... basically. A perfect only child. I was the average weight, the perfect height, I could breathe fine. Everything was perfect and normal except my hair. For one thing, I had barely any. But that's not the reason. The reason was the color, red. My parents never cared. They thought I was perfect none the less, but I couldn't tell. They were never around enough for me to develop an opinion on whether they actually did. After all, to go along with the perfect baby and parents, there had to be a more than perfect amount of money coming from a perfect, yet time consuming, job typical sad rich girl, right? Wrong. It gets better, just wait. 

When I was eight, my perfect life was broken in two. My mom and dad had a divorce and they both "thought the other would take better care of me." I guess that was partially true, somewhere deep down maybe they knew I wasn't getting the time with them I wanted. I needed. So, they gave me to foster care with an apology, money, and a picture. At the age of eleven, I threw that photo in the fire. I knew that they probably didn't miss me with all their work and all. I was most likely right. 

A family adopted me when I was twelve. It was weird at first, but then I got used to them and in the end loved them. My family now. Better than the first. I got attention, home-cooked my meals by the mother (not a cook), and a father to help with homework (not a tutor). I was part of a family again. 

Five months ago, when I was (and still am) fifteen, we moved from our perfect suburban house to another not so perfect suburban house. But dad got a better job offer and we had to take it. Moving into a new school. A lot can happen from the time when you start school August to December of that same year. Especially if it is a new school. I made new friends and lost them. I have had a pet and lost it. I have had an amazing teacher and even lost them too. All in good time you will discover everything, oh Journal. My past and my present.

You are probably wondering at this point why I have no one to talk to, and that is mainly because of the lack of people who care. Who care about our friendship and care to listen. That is nobody at this point in time. Well, actually one. Me. I care, and I care a lot. But I don't count. And yes, dear Journal, you would probably think, if you could, that someone has to care about me. And the answer is yes. Yes, I am sure someone does. As of right now I don't know them. But I do believe that there has to be someone out there who notices me and waits and prays that I notice them back. And I hope and pray that I do. 

Lets get back to happy thoughts shall we? I did get a new pet yesterday! I call him Newt. He is a hamster. A freakishly skinny hamster at that. I hope to fix that. Oh, and I also got another hamster! I named him Scamander. I am a fan of Harry Potter if you can't tell. I used to be even more, but now I just a fan. One or two posters in my room.

Right, I forgot to tell you, I am a big fan of posters that portray my favorite books. Mortal Instruments, Harry Potter, and basically any amazing magic and fiction book. Mainly magic, though. What can I say? Speaking of posters, glancing around my room at them I realize how dark it's getting. I'd better not write my heart, head, or hand out my first time around. I'll write when I can. 

Yours truly, 

Esme