Dear journal,
This, by far, was the worst day of my life. I have never despised my emotionally unstable mother so much before. She thinks I'm running mad! How absurd. I tried to tell her that I'm fine, I dared not bring up the number again. It would only invigorate her further. Which, as much as I don't like her, I don't want for her.
She noticed before, my futile attempts at getting a new job. At first, she was elated, until she began to notice my strange behaviour. Talking to myself, urging myself to call a girl I only ever dream about. Call me cliche, I'll just agree with you.
A week ago, I found her rummaging through my dresser. She was reading through my journals, my notes. Yes, I've been taking notes on this girl, I've been drawing vivid images of her, sketching her little bird from memory. I realize that is dangerously biased of me, to imagine her as this beautiful angel, this girl I'm so desperately trying to help, because maybe she isn't.
A cold hard truth I know.
But maybe she isn't beautiful. Maybe her features were not carved by gods. Or maybe she just doesn't believe she's beautiful. And what will my reaction be when we meet in person. Heck, we never will.
But if we do?
What if my hopes are crushed by my dreams of her? I've been so caught up in my imaginary image of her, I haven't stopped to think of what this broken girl might actually look like.
Mum found out a week ago, all my thoughts, all my dreams, exposed to her.
I never really managed to call her, pay-checks here are useless. End of the month and you're barely getting pennies.
I never really managed to call.
Mum, she has this vision where she sees me being something special in the future...she thinks this girl is a distraction, a wall in my path.
She thinks I'm mental.
She thinks I need to see a counsellor.
-Jack
