If I had a dream... (young Leonardo DiCaprio) [complete]

day 3: going out of my mind

-Janet, are you okay? You seem...
-I'm fine. Don't worry.
-but you have dark circles under your eyes...
-I'm fine,- I really wasn't,- Mummy, you're doing the best waffles in the world,- I tried to switch to another theme but my mum understood it so she said:
-if you need help, you can always ask me or your dad.
-I will. Thank you,- actually I won't. My parents won't understand me and they will call a psychiatrist for me. I won't let them do it.

after breakfast, I went up to my room and wanted to write something in my diary. he was my only assistant. I did not hide anything from him. and I was sure that no one would read it.

I tried to write at least one sentence in my diary, but all was in vain. I did not feel safe. and I was sure that someone was looking at me. constantly. this feeling has not left me for several days. like someone all the time staring at me, trying to overhear my thoughts and conversations.

That's crazy- I thought - no one can't overhear my thoughts. That's just impossible. I think I'm becoming a paranoid.

The only safe place for me was the tree house that we built with my father. I was about 10. it's been 7 years, and I remember everything as if it happened only yesterday. It was Saturday. 4pm. my mother and I were watching TV, and at that time my father came. he brought boards and nails. I did not understand what it was for, but I did not want to ask him, because I thought it would be tactless. my father was tired, but he still went to build this house with me. we built it for several hours. 8, to be precise. and until now this house has survived. he serves me as the safest place in the world. from the age of 10 I liked to spend my free time there, but in the last two years I forgot about him. probably because of studies or some other teenage bullshit. it's time to take on the old!

I took my diary, phone and pen and ran to my house. It was not as new and clean as before, but I did not quibble and immediately climbed into it. there I saw my old toys (all in the dust), armchairs, blankets and other trifles. unbearable tears appeared on my eyes. I took my old blanket (in some strange way, absolutely not dusty), covered myself with it and started writing in my diary. until this moment I did not realize how tired I was. so I postponed the diary and decided to get some sleep, hoping to get some sleep. but I did not succeed. as you can guess, I moved in the 90's.