Random Short Stories/Written Ideas

"Dear Diary"

WARNING! Brief mentions of thoughts of self-harm.

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Dear diary, she started, her mind already struggling to word what she wanted to write next. The music she pumped into her ears distracted and muddled her mind, but she pushed forwards. She had to, else the idea to do this in the first place would haunt her days and nights.

I'm not okay. Was that good? Why was she worried about what she wrote down here? It wouldn't matter. It was time like anyone would find the book she wrote it in.

She paused, pondering her next words carefully. How could she explain why she wasn't okay?

The days feel slow, but go by in a blur. Everything has blended together- No. That won't do. Who used metaphors when writing how they felt?

Then again, they helped describe what she wanted to describe. She left it.

-and I'm losing track of time. I don't know when it started, I could only theorize, but I know I've been on this road for a long time. I'm getting worse, though.

She paused, taking the time to consider. Had she gotten worse? Wasn't this manageable compared to what her friends were going through? She had no right to self-diagnose herself with a gradually growing exhaustion, or numbness, when there were others struggling with more on their plates.

But then she thought of what she'd told those friends when they thought the same way. She scoffed to herself, muttering something about practicing what she preached.

If only it were that easy.

It really went into affect in the month of July.

There was another pause. Should she specify what had happened? What had caused her slow descent? After a moment of debate, she shook her head. Even she knew not to put every inkling of information into a book, even if she felt nearly entirely confident that it wouldn't be found.

I took something harder than I should have. I can still talk to them, can't I? So why does it still make me sad?

Only she knew what she was referring to. Her sister knew, too, of course, but even she didn't know how hard it had hit [REDACTED]. As the older sister, she felt as though she had to be the strong one.

She felt ashamed any time she was caught crying, as uncommon as that is.

No one else seems as sad. Am I overreacting?

That was a question she would ask herself for days to come.

Is it worse that I'm terrified of losing all other ways of communication?

Her mind strayed from the topic as she finished the squiggly of the question mark. The pencil stabbing into the paper followed.

Why was she so afraid of losing her friends? Why did she have to cling to them as though they were her lifeline? Was it because she didn't want to be alone? Or was it because she was terrified of letting go?

Even so, neither explained that fear. When had that started? She could think of a few instances where it could have begun. A best friend from elementary suddenly ghosting her, another from the same grade calling her stupid names and putting a chasm between them. Maybe it had to do with the online friends she'd made in her younger years, when she was naïve and a drama queen. The toxic relationships, the lies, the suffocation, the mistakes made...

What if it had to do with having her contact cut from her family? Family was just a title in her mind, after all. Friendship, she thought, was the bond that tied her to them.