Dear journal,
Hello, my name is Alister.
I just turned sixteen. Mother bought you for my birthday yesterday, so I'll be writing to you everyday now. Yesterday I woke up at exactly seven thirty as I do everyday; I made my bed twice, brushed my teeth three times and combed my hair twice. Just the same as any other morning.
I made my way down stairs remembering to start with my right foot and to skip the last step. I directed myself to the kitchen and turned the lights on and off, on and off, and on and off three times. I poured my usual cereal into the same bowl. Fifty pieces to be exact. Poured two cups of milk and ate peacefully. Mother came into the kitchen ruffling my hair and passing me four colored pills. Two blue and two green. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention I have OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) and Agoraphobia (Panic attacks at random). I've been taking them daily and mother says they've been working because I haven't had a panic attack for a while and I've been making it to school on time instead of making sure not to step on any cracks on the way there.
I don't like school, the kids always seem to be in a bad mood and nobody cares if their writing isn't perfectly placed or if their pencils aren't all equally sharpened. The kids there are sloppy and don't seem to like me very much. Tommy and his friends for example, they always bump into me knocking my books down and claiming it was an accident. I always say it’s okay, because it's not their fault that they're clumsy. Sometimes they take my things and hide them in unusual places like the dumpster, or this one time they hid my binder in the girls washroom. I don't understand why I got in trouble for getting it back. I just needed my binder because I didn't want to be late for class. They call me names too, like “Freak”, “Neat geek”, and “Looser”. I don't mind much though as long as they don't hurt me. Usually though, as long as I don't talk to people, they leave me alone. I don't need friends anyway. I already have a best friend; he is my calico cat, Sherbert. Father got him for us for our last Christmas. Sometimes when I'm having a panic attack Sherbert will help calm me down, with his perfectly symmetrical brown and white patterns and rhythmic purring.
When Mother got me this journal, she said that I'll soon be a man and I should start documenting my experiences. I don’t think father likes us very much, he's always yelling us, especially at mother. We all try and keep out of his way. Yesterday was a good day. No yelling. We got cake. And no panic Attacks.
This is me checking out.
This is me checking out.
This is me checking out.
Alister.
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Dear journal,
Today I woke up at exactly seven thirty as I do everyday; I made my bed twice, brushed my teeth three times and combed my hair twice. Just the same as any other morning. I made my way down stairs remembering to start with my right foot and to skip the last step. I made my way down stairs remembering to start with my right foot and to skip the last step. I directed myself to the kitchen and turned the lights on and off, on and off, and on and off three times. I poured my usual cereal into the same bowl. Fifty pieces to be exact. Poured two cups of milk and ate peacefully. Mother came into the kitchen ruffling my hair and passing me four colored pills. Two blue and two green.
There was a change in the routine today. We got a transfer student at school today, at nine twenty five just before we were to begin working; a teacher came in with a boy in tow. He introduced himself as Justin. He wore a black muscle shirt with the print "Metallica" on it. His shoes were torn up and you could barely make out the dark blue underneath all the dirt. In addition, his jeans were also torn at the knees and he wore his brown hair messy and untamed. I wonder if he even brushed it at all. There is a scar on his lip, though it is small enough to go unnoticed by everyone else. Everything about this boy drives my OCD insane, I really have to concentrate to keep it together.
