My diary.

10. Passcode: weaverbird

Dear diary,

Passcode: weaverbird

Hello Avy. I did a lot of thinking today and I realised just how awful I am. I only come to you to complain about one thing or the other. Or to tell you about my schemes. But today I just want to talk to you. Like friends should.

You know, I was not born in a wheelchair. I used to run around all the time. My mom used to complain about how I could never sit still. I used to tire my father out by making him chase after me just to get me to bed. I always dreamed of being an athlete.

I practised all the time and even stuck to a specific diet. I ran around, did all manner of exercises just to build up my muscle. I pushed myself so hard that I became the best in the district, then the county. I was aiming for being the best worldwide. And so I put in more effort. I barely slept.

Level after level, I won. I became the upcoming athlete to beat. Defending champions struggled to keep their titles, I still beat them. The Olympics were coming up so fast and I needed to make the team. I had to.

However, someone else wanted the spot much more than I did. And she had all the power at her disposal. Her parents were just as hungry for it just as much. And they were rich and heartless.

Five times, I had to prove my innocence at doping allegations. Each time, I did. Thrice, attempts at my life were made. All failed. I still live. But I lost use of my legs, and I lost my mother and a better part of my father too.

I took a really long time to wake up from a coma. And when I did, my mother was gone and my father, he was so lost in grief I could not recognise him. He could barely take care of himself, leave alone me.

Slowly, I learnt to adapt to my new life. Yet, my heart never truly healed. I was sad and mostly depressed. It got only worse over time transmitting into my sleep. I developed paranoia and horrible nightmares.

Then came Doom. My father was approached by the leaders when he was at the verge of collapse. They cajoled him into joining them. Which he did. And he improved. I was so overjoyed that my depression began lifting. Until I refused to convert into one of them. There started the war against me.

The past three years have been practically traumatising. I'd cry myself to sleep only to wake myself up with my screaming. I tried to talk to counselors at the hospital but they always told my dad everything. So, that avenue got closed.

I subscribed to all kind of groups online, with not so much success. Then one day, some guy on TV spoke about keeping a journal. I thought it was stupid. Until I decided to try it.

And look how far I've come in such a short while. Thanks to you. I can now sleep at night. I no longer feel weighed down.

I look forward to staying friends with you Avy.

Love,
Mill.