My diary.

2. Dear Olive

Dear Olive,
Am extra happy today. By that I mean I don't feel like I want to just sink into a coma and never wake up. The forced smile on my face doesn't feel as forced either. My eyes still look sunken and lifeless but well, one step at a time.

Am happy because my dad was delayed at work and he won't be here to drag me to Thursday fellowship. I have the house to myself so I can sit in the living room watching TV in nothing but lingerie and six inch high heels. If mama saw me like this, she would die, if she wasn't dead already. My dad, well he would probably call the whole church to come pray for me.

Those are usually the moments I enjoy in the presence of the congregation. Watching them pray for none existent demons to depart from my soul is quite amusing. Don't get me wrong Olive, I do not scorn their faith. If anything it is admirable, only it is quite misinformed. I am depressed, not possessed.

You might ask yourself, if I know what is wrong with me why not fight it? I'll tell you why. It is not easy. I have been through therapy and various kinds of antidepressants. Therapy never worked because most therapists were my dad's friends and I couldn't risk him finding out some of the things I felt. The drugs on the other hand gave me a false sense of calm. In the end, I gave up. Might as well live with it.

Am going to watch one of those super scary horror films. My nightmares are getting quite monotonous I think I should feed my brain with new material. Do you think am crazy? If you were me what would you do?

Why am I even asking you? This was some counsellor guy's opinion on TV. I thought it was silly but then I saw you on that supermarket shelf looking so attractive and I knew I wanted you. And I bought you. At first I had no idea what to do with you. And then I decided to make a friend of you.

And I know you're a book. Am not crazy. But I really need to feel like am having a conversation. Even if it is one sided, it is better than nothing.

You know, I used to have a friend in the Bible. I could quote verse after verse of it in my sleep all night and not repeat a single one. Then, I learnt it was all a lie. The Bible depicts God as the good guy who protects those who love Him. He forgot to protect me. Not once, not twice. Time and time again in quick succession. One day I was a sweet innocent child. The next I was torn and ripped and totally impossible to mend.

Everyday ever since is a penance. As if it was my fault. As if I was not as hurt by it all as everyone else. As if it was my fault I survived it. I made it our of it all, but only just. I wish I hadn't on more days than not. Still, I made it.

Am doing it again. Sinking into self-pity. It is not healthy. I of all people should know this by now. I am now going to go and watch that horror movie.

And your second name Olive is:

Avy.

Yours,
Mill.