April 17th, 2021
diary,
I hate you.
How much longer should I keep writing this fucking book? One is dumber than the other.
This is the fourth fucking book. What's the point? Huh? Tell me.
Because I don't understand this shit.
I don't understand why I have to talk to this psychologist/doctor/therapist....whatever.
And why do you force me to write everything I think and feel here.
Every hour is the same.
You read my fucking entries and then write something in this shitty little book of yours. Or those stupid, stupid ink stains that I'm supposed to describe.
Are you stupid? How did you become a psychologist? What should I see from these ink stains? And when I say something, you look at me as if I stabbed your grandma in front of your eyes.
I'm still wondering whether I should try it on you.
fuck you.
And then these fucking diagnoses. Why are you so fucking annoying. Just leave me alone. What's the point of showing me more and more of what a miscarriage I am.
And don't tell me not to swear.
I'll do what I fucking want.
Fuck you.
I hope your pillow is warm on both sides.
Naila
YOU ARE READING
Dear diary
Teen FictionA girl, who is so broken and lost that her only friend was her diary, a book which in the end turned out to be her enemy as well.
