Friends forever

Chapter 1

When you are 14 years old, you usually have a "class", which maybe formed when you were six, seven or eight, and so you just grew up and got older and she started to become "the class".
You date, your parents say "watch how you have fun".  Or the teachers start to ask: "what are you going to do with life".  And most students always choose: "football player, doctor or lawyer", making their parents proud of you.
Well, this is the "usually" I said.  But there are exceptions, which are so rare that they are called strange, weird or lonely.

I just turned 14, but only my psychologist Mar asked me what I wanted to do with my life, or how I was doing.

Today, it is my first week of school after my "vacation" season.  No, you didn’t read wrong, it’s vacation in quotes.
That was how Mar asked me to speak, in case someone asked me at school, which I had done for almost half the school year.  Which is a lie, but telling schoolmates that I spent three months in a psychiatric clinic was not going to make me a good friend at school.  So I ended up agreeing with the lie.

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On my first day at school, I didn't make any friends as I expected to do.  Everyone was already in a class, since kindergarten, and of course everyone looked at me crookedly.  I even thought I had something dirty on my face, at least that's what I repeated to myself, trying to convince myself of why everyone avoided making friends with me.  Especially because making friends was not the easiest thing for me.  I didn't really care about that, either.

The first classes of the day were very long, not that teacher Elaine is bad, but having history class on my first day was not a wonderful thing.

During lunch time, I even tried to find some familiar face but everyone always made a face of fear when they saw me, even Patricia from last year who used to be nice to me turned her face.  I don't blame her, but she could be more sympathetic.  It reminded me of Alana, my best childhood friend.  If she were here I would not be alone, but she had to travel to another state.  When I was little I also had a boy who was a very nice friend, but he ended up leaving.  I even think his parents didn't like me or anything.

After a long and tiring lonely day at school, I returned home where the weather remained somewhat heavy.  I think that's a good word to describe it.

- Hi mom - notice, when entering the house.

I always found my mother lying on the couch with the same expression, sad and tired.  Which does not resemble anything when Dad was alive.  Now she is just a woman with long, unruly black hair and dark circles that grow year after year around her brown eyes.  I leave her watching and go up to my room.

How can I describe my room ... Well, my room was and is the place that I feel protected.  Everything I needed was there.  My old / new computer a little bit of both, the record player that Grandpa Paul gave me, not least, my notebooks of memories.

They are like diaries, which I started writing when I was six, it was an idea that my old psychologist Berenice had so that I could empty my mind and organize my thoughts.  Mar, my current psychologist, asked me to continue writing.  There are currently seven notebooks, there were supposed to be eight, but the six-year-old was from the time my father died.  So I didn't want to read and reread about that day.  Don't think that I write thinking about publishing - especially because who would want to read about someone's problems - is another way of venting anger or anxieties without breaking anything.  I don't think you can imagine what a boy with depression thinks.

My other passion is photography, since I was little.  So my dad ended up buying me a Polaroid camera.  I like being able to transform a simple dry leaf, or the shade of a tree, into something that other people will even use as wallpaper on their smartphone.