All the Little Things.

I think Leo likes to hear about what I write. Just a thought. After I read what I wrote about his laugh, he grinned and kissed my forehead and nose. He also said, "Speaking of Morrison Peak, we really should get back to hiking that. I think you're out of shape," which resulted in me slapping his shoulder playfully. But back to my journal.



It's been a week since Leo and I met, and not a day has passed that is not spent with him. Sometimes, when Leo makes me really happy—not like that, you perverts—I wonder if this was how my mom and dad were when they met. I’m not saying that Leo and I are in love, hell no! Definitely not. Yet? I don’t really know, but it doesn’t really matter, because the time that we spend together is worth everything in the world.

Three days after Leo and I painted his apartment-slash-loft-slash-floor-slash-whatever, he hands me a gold key on one of those keychain rings and says that I’m welcome whenever, as long as I don’t steal anything. And that he’ll know if I steal anything, and he’ll hunt me down if I do. Leo’s classes have started, so I’m just sitting on that faded and torn yellow couch of Leo’s. I’ve grown to love it since it ruined my suicide attempt, that bastard of a couch. I smiled as I recalled the memory of it saving me.

I looked at the clock hanging on the wall. Two o’clock. I stood up and walked around, bored out of my mind. I found myself wandering into Leo’s bedroom—don’t ask me why, I don’t know. I lay down on his bed, when I heard a thump. I slapped my forehead. Fuck. I knocked something over. What if it was important? As I sat back up with a groan to see what it was that I’d knocked over, I found it was a simple, leather-bound notebook with LEO THORNWOOD, 2008 engraved on the cover. Curious, I opened it, and a slip of folded paper fell onto my lap. As I unfolded it, I bit back a grin. Of course Leo would leave me something to do, or in this case, read.

Gemini St. Claire, it began with. Of course Leo would use my full name, too.

If you ever find yourself bored in my humble abode again, just head into my room. I’ll always leave you something to do or shit on my bed. Anyways. This, right here, is my therapeutic journal. In 2008 (clearly), my doctor gave this to me in hopes that I would write down my thoughts and emotions in here. I was diagnosed with clinical depression in 2006. I’d hopped from therapist to therapist, each one failing to help me, until my parents found the therapist that gave me this: Dr. Kalani. He’s fucking awesome, man. Maybe I’ll take you to meet him someday or something. Anyways, I’m straying off topic. He gave this to me on my first session with him, and as I said earlier, I was supposed to write down my feelings. Well, I did. So here’s one past Leo Thornwood you never knew, the depressed one.

All my undying love,
Leo Thornwood

Leo was depressed once upon a time? Damn.



I flipped through every page and left none unread, discovering that Leo had some serious issues when he first met with Dr. Kalani. Leo tried to kill himself at least twice a week and was convinced that his parents didn’t love him. In the first entry, Leo wrote about how before his freshman year, he was liked. He was the popular guy, the one that every girl wanted to date and the kid that every guy wanted his friend to be like. Leo wasn’t like those popular assholes in the movies—his popularity came from his friendly personality. In his freshman year, he unintentionally pissed of this really popular dick who in turn told him, “Your birth certificate is an apology sent to your parents from the condom factory.” Leo was never the same after that. He didn’t talk to his closest friends, much less his parents. Leo became this closed-off guy that no one new anymore. As he faded into the shadows, suicidal thoughts clouded around him.

By the end of the entry, which was five pages long, I felt sick. How could someone say something like that, especially to someone like Leo? Leo never wrote the name of the guy he pissed off, but whoever it was, I hated him. Or maybe I didn’t? Later entries proved to me that I didn’t hate that guy. Maybe I should be thanking him, like Leo said in his nineteenth, and last, entry.

October 27th, 2009
Maybe I should thank him for saying that. Maybe I should thank him for making me so god damn depressed that I had to see hundreds of therapists, all diagnosing me with clinical depression, but giving me no solution. Because if not for him, I wouldn’t have met Dr. Kalani. I wouldn’t be writing down all these feelings I used to keep bottled up inside me like a shaken up can of pop, just waiting to explode. This notebook offered me a release of all those emotions, and I’m so glad I met Dr. Kalani. I’m so glad that guy said those things to me, because without those words, without me falling into a depression, without Dr. Kalani’s therapeutic sessions that always made me feel alive, who knows who I would be today? This is my last entry, and I’m attending my last session with Dr. Kalani in a week.

Over and out,
Leo Thornwood

These therapeutic sessions Leo had really helped him. Was this his way of telling me I should see Dr. Kalani? Maybe I did need help, even though I wasn’t clinically depressed. Finishing Leo’s journal made me realise one thing—do I even know who I am right now?