Hello, I Dislike You Intensely. Have a Nice Day.
Entry #1.
Dear So-called Diary,
Well, what do you wanna know about me? Look, there are so many lovely pre-arranged options to choose from.
Like, My Name: Danielle Faetherit. Or just Dani. Yes. Dani will be just splendiferous.
Or, My Age: Fifteen. As in, old enough to stop being all "zomg my <3 bleedz 4 u!!!", but still not old enough to join the grown-ups at the grown-up table. Messed up, I know.
Or, My Hobbies/Interests: Well, that's harder. I was in a choir all through middle school, but I quit after eighth grade. I dunno. I like to sing, I just don't like being in a choir. If that makes any sense at all.
How about my Favorite Book? Twilight, of course. Just kidding. That's too hard of a question for me right now. Sorry, Diary. I know you are massively disappointed.
Perhaps I could interest you instead, Diary, in my Favorite Class? Hm. Well, if Ms. Tischler was going to be grading these, I'd have to say English just to suck up to her. I know she'd be pissed about me not answering the Favorite Book question. But she isn't. And again, I'm at a loss. I guess English or Dance. I like reading, and I used to think the Dance teacher was cool until I started singing along to the song we were dancing to one day, and lo and behold she is threatening me with dismemberment if I don't join the musical. Evidently, it's gotten to the point where the boys have to don wigs and dresses to fill up the empty girl parts. I know you're thinking of it the wrong way, Diary. You don't think I can hear you snickering, do you? Well, I have got supersonic, extra-animate-object-al hearing. So there.
And finally, a Random Fact: I am mentally unsound. Well, you probably guessed that. Cos, A) Who the hell gets into an argument with their diary? B) Who writes this damn much for a measly homework assignment anyway? C) I possess a vagina and am in my teen years, yet I don't like Twilight. And D) Daffodil.
Actually, I'm bipolar. It's not that bad, I'm okay about 67% of the time. It's just that my lows can get pretty scary. To be cringingly honest, I think I would've killed myself by now if I weren't such a coward. If I weren't constantly obsessed with causing others as little pain as possible, if it weren't for my infuriating sense of self-preservation. Evolution at its finest, one could suppose.
Usually, I can't bring myself to admit stuff like this. Usually, I feel like the weak one, the girl with problems, the girl behind glass that everyone stares at, thankful they're not. That's why I've never told anyone. But tonight, I can bring myself to say this. Because tonight, I feel okay. And when I feel okay, I take down the locks, I feel myself slowly opening, the gap between myself and everyone else shinking and shrinking. But I can never make it completely, I've never been totally gapless with someone. At the slightest sign of danger, I snap shut like a clam.
Geez. I'm making this out to be like The Tragedy of Dani. You know way too much, Diary. I will rip you up and throw you away and write another version of you that is infinitely safer. K? Sorry, darling. It's got to be this way.
Well, what do you wanna know about me? Look, there are so many lovely pre-arranged options to choose from.
Like, My Name: Danielle Faetherit. Or just Dani. Yes. Dani will be just splendiferous.
Or, My Age: Fifteen. As in, old enough to stop being all "zomg my <3 bleedz 4 u!!!", but still not old enough to join the grown-ups at the grown-up table. Messed up, I know.
Or, My Hobbies/Interests: Well, that's harder. I was in a choir all through middle school, but I quit after eighth grade. I dunno. I like to sing, I just don't like being in a choir. If that makes any sense at all.
How about my Favorite Book? Twilight, of course. Just kidding. That's too hard of a question for me right now. Sorry, Diary. I know you are massively disappointed.
Perhaps I could interest you instead, Diary, in my Favorite Class? Hm. Well, if Ms. Tischler was going to be grading these, I'd have to say English just to suck up to her. I know she'd be pissed about me not answering the Favorite Book question. But she isn't. And again, I'm at a loss. I guess English or Dance. I like reading, and I used to think the Dance teacher was cool until I started singing along to the song we were dancing to one day, and lo and behold she is threatening me with dismemberment if I don't join the musical. Evidently, it's gotten to the point where the boys have to don wigs and dresses to fill up the empty girl parts. I know you're thinking of it the wrong way, Diary. You don't think I can hear you snickering, do you? Well, I have got supersonic, extra-animate-object-al hearing. So there.
And finally, a Random Fact: I am mentally unsound. Well, you probably guessed that. Cos, A) Who the hell gets into an argument with their diary? B) Who writes this damn much for a measly homework assignment anyway? C) I possess a vagina and am in my teen years, yet I don't like Twilight. And D) Daffodil.
Actually, I'm bipolar. It's not that bad, I'm okay about 67% of the time. It's just that my lows can get pretty scary. To be cringingly honest, I think I would've killed myself by now if I weren't such a coward. If I weren't constantly obsessed with causing others as little pain as possible, if it weren't for my infuriating sense of self-preservation. Evolution at its finest, one could suppose.
Usually, I can't bring myself to admit stuff like this. Usually, I feel like the weak one, the girl with problems, the girl behind glass that everyone stares at, thankful they're not. That's why I've never told anyone. But tonight, I can bring myself to say this. Because tonight, I feel okay. And when I feel okay, I take down the locks, I feel myself slowly opening, the gap between myself and everyone else shinking and shrinking. But I can never make it completely, I've never been totally gapless with someone. At the slightest sign of danger, I snap shut like a clam.
Geez. I'm making this out to be like The Tragedy of Dani. You know way too much, Diary. I will rip you up and throw you away and write another version of you that is infinitely safer. K? Sorry, darling. It's got to be this way.
♠ ♠ ♠
Comment please. The power of Christ compels you....or if you're not Christian....the power of cupcakes, I suppose. Yeah, okay, just comment! If you've got nothing to say about the story itself, talk about my writing style. Talk about your opinion of Dani. I wouldn't be so OCD about this if I didn't really want this.