Chapter One - Lowkey Depressed

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Author's Note - Yes, the title of this chapter was meant to be a pun. Don't make fun of my awful humor. ✋✋


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'Depression' Diary entry # 43

I've been writing in this diary for a while ever since my ex-therapist suggested I collected my thoughts on how life is going every day to recap. I really don't think it's helping. She suggested that when? Maybe a year ago? Well, I don't know. I don't really care. Obviously, by the number that I'm at, I hadn't held myself to a very strict schedule. Maybe I've done it every week to a couple of weeks?

Anyways, life hasn't been very interesting lately, my older sister Natasha is still better than me at everything. Yeah, NATASHA ROMANOFF, the all-mighty Black Widow. That's the one. I don't really know why I'm writing like I'm speaking directly to someone, but it feels like I'm normal, having a normal interaction, with a normal person who would actually listen to what I have to say.

On another note, college isn't the most interesting at the moment either. I haven't figured out what I want to do with my life, the field of work I want to go into, or even what I want to do tomorrow. My sister's offer still stands to be one of her 'trainees' as she would call it, but I just don't have the motivation or ambition to give into her constant nagging at the moment. If you asked me a few years ago if I wanted to be one of my sister's new recruits, I would've happily obliged. That was when I actually had ambitions though. Now I'm just a young adult, in a huge city, NEW YORK city, in fact, taking random, unhelpful courses at some random university, earning my master's degree in who knows what.

I have been thinking more and more lately about giving my sister's training a shot, because... well, might as well. All of my childhood and early teenage years I spent training to become an assassin like my sister before me, but when she became the 'Avenger' she is today, I came with her. I couldn't handle living under that roof anymore. Now, I live with the little money I have, in a small apartment that is only visited by Natasha. It's as sad as it sounds.

I put my pen down and stared down at what I just wrote on the tiny notebook I had labeled 'Depression Diary' and threw it into my top desk drawer. Of course from the violent slam of the now-closed wooden drawer that was constantly chipping, I had given myself a deep splinter. I made my way, the literal five steps, to my bathroom's medicine cabinet to grab my tweezers to take the wooden chip out of my cold skin. My fingers were almost blue from the cold November city weather. I couldn't really do anything about that though because my heater was always broken.

Pulling at the tiny chip with the tweezers, I winced a little at the tiny sting it gave me because of how deep it had been. I didn't know how it hurt given the fact that I'm a partly trained assassin who had built up serious pain tolerance.

"Maybe that piece of wood hurt because it was radioactive and I'm about to become some sort of superhero with the power to give people I dislike instant splinters!" I laughed at that super dumb joke I had just made. This is why no one talks to me I suppose, I thought, I'm just weird. I smiled to myself and looked out my bathroom window.

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