Reckless - Ashton Irwin

Chapter 1

I hate the word "Diary". I hate the assumption that just because I write in a fucking journal - it's a journal okay - does not mean it is a diary. Dr. Sanders said this was a good way to "relieve me of my stress and my looming depression" so it fucking pisses me off when people say "I am writing in a diary." The only reason I have this journal is because my mother took me to Dr. Sanders to get therapy for not being as "happy" as I used to be. So here I am, writing in a journal to express how I feel to make sure I don't trance into a state of depression; it's funny however, that all it does is make me think of how much I overthink things. All this journal does is show me how sad my life really is, how fucked up it is that my dad left my mom for his skanky mistress and how dysfunctional my family is because of his decision. 

As I write this 6000 feet above the ground, moving thousands of miles away from where I grew up, all I can think is FUCK YOU WORLD, and fuck you to atmospheric pressure, because my ears are starting to hurt from this plane ride. I think it's pretty pointless why my mom would take me to therapy when afterwards she would tell me that we were moving to Australia. But I was somewhat glad we were moving to a new country because I could leave all the bad things that happened in my life behind. 

It was so unexpected when my mom told me a week ago that we were moving. Who the hell randomly moves to Australia? When I asked my mom how and why we were moving so far away, she told me her grandmother had died and on the will, it said her house was to be given to my mom. How do people even live to have a great-grandmother? How old was she, 101? My grandmother died when I was five, so I don't even remember having a great-grandma or even being told I was part-Aussie. Where would my mom work or where would I go to school? My scholarship to....

I hear a noise in the background and I think it's directed towards me; I snap out of my writing trance and look up to see the flight stewardess asking me if I want any snacks or beverages. I am feeling a bit hungry so I decide to accept her offer. 

"Can I get a snack and water please, preferably peanuts?" I ask her politely. She responds by placing down a napkin with the Virgin Australia logo on it, a small pack of peanuts with the same logo, and a mini water bottle with - wow if you didn’t know - the same red logo on the packaging. I had no idea I was on a Virgin Australia plane with all this advertisement. I place my pen down, open the water bottle, then use both hands and my front teeth to rip open the packaged snack. Jesus, why did they have to make these things so hard to open? It was a stupid choice to use full-on force against the peanuts because I am a full-on klutz so the peanuts would obviously spill out all over my tank top and the water bottle would obviously topple over and drench the bottom of my tank top. 

 “Shit,” I groan to myself before closing the journal and putting it away in my bag so the water doesn’t wet the leather-bound journal. Why did she only give me one napkin? Great. I try to clean up the spilt water and some of the peanuts from the tiny table assembled to the chair in front of me before giving up. I try to find the stewardess to see if I could get more napkins but she’s no where to be found. I look back to my mother and my younger brother to see if one of them could help me, but they both have fallen asleep carelessly, a thin line of drool running from the the corner of my mother’s mouth. Ew. We had a whole row to ourselves so I sat with a seat between my brother and me so I could write. The journal and my “venting” has now moved to the back of my mind and the only thing I cared about now was finding something to wipe up the mess. Where is the lady? I don’t want to have a panic attack in a reserved environment full of people; the stewardess would probably have to kick me off this plane if I caused a frenzy. The coldness of the water chills my stomach and it feels awkward to have this damp feeling on my shirt. 

(polyvore! lol sorry polyvores are typical but i love making them http://www.polyvore.com/reckless_chap/set?id=96669096) 

I feel a slight tap on my shoulder and I hope it’s not some annoyed person asking me to stop moving in my seat. But no.