Dear Diary, I can't find an answer.

Wednesday, week 1

Dear diary,
Maybe I wasn't overthinking and the truth was much more complex.

I'm not entirely sure, but I hope I'm wrong.

I don't want to hear or find out that I've been denying the clear fact before me, I don't want to turn around and see that they were, in fact, glaring at me. Disgusted.
As I write this, tears are falling. They're staining you, Diary.  I'm sorry.

I shouldn't take this out on you but I want to know the truth. I want a plain answer, a yes or no. I hate thinking, I hate that I drag out every thought until it becomes this massive chunk that clings to the surface of my brain, digging it's nails in. I hate it. A hurricane of thoughts and unclear answers, I crave a yes or no.

Sometimes, I find that writing helps. So, diary, I guess you're going to be filled up with all these thoughts, my boring life.
I'm sorry for that.

God, why am I apologising to a diary, what on Earth is wrong with me?
It must be that pill mother convinced me to take today, she said that it would stop the blurred stuff distracting me from life...

I feel as if this pill is ripping me away from emotion. My dad taught me that it was good to have feelings, that emotion was what kept a human going.
But it feels good like this too, it's like...numb.
For once, my mind is beginning to feel empty.
Mother calls, so see you later, diary.

-The one and only Daya