Dear diary:
No, fuck it, I'm not gonna write that again, its stupid. It makes me feel like a five year old that keeps a diary to talk about school and her nasty little brother. So hey, my name is Tegan, I'm a 15 years old bisexual girl, living in the uk. I'm a bit of a geek and I adore bands. (thats my tumblr description too) I just got this diary and I'm gonna start writing this every couple of days.
My therapist made me get this diary. He even bought for me it especially. Its the most beautiful book, honestly, wasted on my thoughts. Its got this gorgeous leather cover and the pages are bound together with silky, silvery thread. Apparently keeping a diary is supposed to make you feel better, something about the way it makes you express yourself. I don't see the point really, but I promised Jake I'd try it for at least a month. Jake is my therapist. It seems strange that he's my therapist, because he's only 23 and he's closer to my age than my mum's. With his bright, sparkling eyes and careless, sweepy black fringe, he looks like he should be my crush, not my counsellor. I've had loads of therapists before, none of which helped, but Jake is different. He understands what I'm going through, and we talk like friends rather than him treating me like the crazy, fucked up teenager I am. He treats me like a real person. And I adore that.
Anyone reading this so far, probably thinks I'm crazy. I mean, I go to a therapist three times a week. And I'm a 15 year old girl, writing a diary, like cmon. But if somebody thought I was crazy, they would probably be right. I mean, I have more diagnosis’s than friends. According to the doctors, I suffer from: severe depression and suicidal thoughts, mild social anxiety, serious OCD, serious binge eating disorder and I'm being tested for bipolar right now, I hate it. I hate being diagnosed with things, because they start chucking medicine at you like fucking sweets. I don't want all these illnesses attached to me, I want to be normal. Everyone at school thinks I'm mentally sound, except the few friends that know about my selfharming. I get good grades and I have a large group of friends. None of my teachers even suspect how fucked up I am, like you can't possibly be getting A*'s and have your own problems. Life revolves around school. You have to get the best grades.
Most people expect me to be a little bit fucked up if I'm honest. I look like an “emo” apparently. Thats what people call me. I guess I am an emo, with my swept fringe, my thick, flicked eyeliner, and tendency to wear band shirts whenever possible, but I HATE the word.
So yeah, I've sorta given an idea of what I'm like now, I'll write again tomorrow I guess
