Fourteen Years.

11 August, 2013.

7:34 PM

I'm not sure who I'm supposed to be writing to exactly. I was just given this hunk of papers that's bind together with black leather and told to write by my therapist, her name is Sarah. I pretty sure it's to channel into my innermost thoughts as I enter hell. I mean, high school.

She must be pretty worried about me since she started to break a sweat handing me this thing. I keep telling myself that I'll be fine, but I'm pretty sure Sarah knows what it's really going to be like for me.

I'm actually excited to go, but seeing all the people that judge me? Not so much. It's a really big school and I'm afraid all the rumors about me are going to spread really quickly. But all of the things that happened were the past, why do they hold onto it?

Of all people saying they shouldn't hold onto the past, it shouldn't be me.

I actually start school tomorrow, and I'm terrified. It's a huge school like I said, and it's way different than my junior high was. The junior high grades aren't even in the same parts of school. All three grades are split off into three different hallways. I, personally, thought it was stupid. Anyway, high school will be a whole different ball game. I hope I'm not the only one who is this scared...

Maybe I should tell you a tad bit about myself.

By the end of this entry you'll actually get my name so I'm not even going to bother with that. I'm actually really tall, 5'8 1/2 to be exact, I have always been the tall one, but going into high school it's like everyone is growing. I have blonde, naturally curly hair that I really hate, but everyone seems to love. Then again, I really don't like anything about myself. Whatever. I'm one of the youngest in my class with only being fourteen and having a summer birthday. It sucks, but I could honestly care less. Age is a number, maturity is a option,

Lets see... Oh, yes! The reason I'm writing this is because I'm in therapy. The only reason I'm in therapy is for depression, which also goes along with self harming. Then major social anxiety. I'm probably just making myself sound like a lonely, cliché, depressed, emo kid. I'm not. I actually have plenty of friends, which is the weird thing.

Sara calls me an odd one, considering most of her patients don't have a social life, or any friends.

I'm call myself a hider, smothering my feelings into a little box in my mind. Only to let them escape at the worst of times. It's pretty bad when they do get out, but I don't wanna write about that.

I guess I should end this here, I'm not exactly sure how to end this thing but here I guess...

(Sorry if this isn't long enough...)

-Lani xx