29th april, 2014
one more specialist today diagnosed me as a possible agoraphobic. that's three now. i feel as if i self diagnose myself a lot but no, so many other specialists support the diagnosis. too many for it not to be real.
she flipped the page.
ocd ✔
bipolar //
claustrophobic ✔
multiple personality /
anxiety//
impulse control /
neurotic ///
agoraphobic
✔ she marks, next to the last word.
i'm writing this with the little pencils that come from ikea. she writes on her diary page.
ending it, she adds a name on the bottom of the last sentence,
zenith catton.
-
in school after classes, when she reads back, she has no idea what she wrote. other than the list, and the diagnosis paragraph, the pencil sentence was irrelevant. she raises her eraser to erase it when a hand is laid onto hers.
"leave it."
a boy undertones right by her ear, making her start. she suddenly wants to stay in that position, his hand on hers, her back and his torso separated only by the plastic back of a school chair.
compulses.
she shrinks away from his arm and winces when the eraser falls off the table and onto the floor. she bends down and scoops it up quickly, failing to make eye contact.
"leave what? " she whispered, barely audibly. "that last sentence. the pencil one." he murmured. she finally looks up. his lips are thin and currently held under his front teeth in a small lip bite. she blushes at the close proximity of their faces and shrinks back.
don't.
she turns around in her chair and stands up. her eyes struggle to not fall downwards and onto her navy blue sneakers. "why not? it's not like it matters to you anyway." she retorts, then regrets the words. he might only be trying to help.
"hey." the boy's eyes soften. "i know your feelings." she glanced up at him.
"how do you? have you been diagnosed over ten times with mental disorders? "
she asked tetchily.
he nodded and smiled sadly. "dyslexia and neurosis, actually."
her eyes widened.
