My Own Person

Chapter 1: A Fresh Start

-A Journal Entry-

I wish I could start this stupid journal by writing that it was a bright sunny day when I woke up; the smell of pancakes was surrounding my room. No, this is not how it started, I guess this only happens in movies if you live in Boston. It was a cold, rainy day. I did not want to leave my soft, warm blanket, but I knew that my mom would not let me in the first day of school. Like usual, it was cereal again. I did not feel hungry. I do not feel hungry that often. Ever since I thought I recovered from anorexia, body dysmorphia just kicks in and triggers my anxiety quite often. I know that this journey is not easy, and I am writing on this stupid thing just because my therapist told me to do so, but here I am talking about weather to run away from my emotions.

-End of the Entry-

I dropped my pen as I left home to get in the car. Fulham High School. It is my chance to make a fresh start. I have heard nothing but how academically successful and art-focused this school was, I guess my parents wanted me to encourage more in arts since it was the only thing that got me through last summer when I was being bullied all the time. I thought homophobia was dead since it is the twenty-first century, God how wrong I was. Spending three months in the mental hospital, I responded to art therapy quickly. It's always what I did. I could not speak, I was never good with words; but when I had my brush and a canvas, the rest did not matter. I remember my therapist asking why I was beaten, and I just could not say the reason. I could not say why I did not eat, and why I was anxious all the time. I do not see that psychiatrist anymore, but my new therapist, Dr. Jenkins was as nice if not nicer as my old therapist. She is just one of those people who instantly understands how I feel or what I am trying to say. I still go to therapy. I still do not have snacks. I still do these stuffs, but I've been doing some new things as well, guess I am just getting better. First, my room's walls are not covered with punk rock group posters, I hanged my previous paintings, as well as posters of books I like. You can tell that it is a lot cozier now, it was what my therapist encouraged me to do.

"your phone anytime, I will be available, but just promise me that you will at least try." I turned to my mother, who already parked the car. I shook my head as I did not catch what she was saying.

"Your phone. You can use it anytime if someone tries to bully you or things do not go well but promise me that you will try to make some friends today, honey."

I hugged and thanked her as I entered the school garden. New faces all around. I thought some people would at least look at me, I guess that's just the way it is in the movies, I am not the main character. I looked around as if there would be any faces that I would know. It was a typical high school, girl groups chatting about how much they missed each other when they literally met every single day, gossipers, boy squad that thinks the world runs around them, the ones trying to do their summer work, some small friend groups chatting about random topics like how one time one of them broke their ankle, and there was me. Standing in the garden, trying to make eye contact with anyone so that I could try to talk. That's when I saw the prettiest dark brown eyes, and curly hair. You. You were sometimes lifting your head from your book and smiling to your friend group. It was how, for a moment, I forgot about my past. This, maybe, might not be bad at all.