Dear Diary, I Think I'm In Love

Does It Ever Get Any Easier?

Dear Diary,

I wish I never had to go back to school. It’s all too much. Seeing people that I don’t like, having to force myself to listen to lessons, while all I want to do is cry … It’s overwhelming.

I’m not sure how writing in here is supposed to help me, because all I want to do is throw the notebook into the wall. I’m writing this during English, by the way, because I’m bored out of my mind.

I’ll stop now. Before I get into trouble. I really don’t want to do that on the first day already.

I sit on that comfortable chair, trying to find a way to make it swallow me in, so I don't have to look at the woman in front of me. She has that friendly, but serious stare on her face again and I have no idea how to tear my gaze away. It's like she's locked my eyes on hers.

"So, Perrie. Today was your first day of school. How did you find it?" she asks before my thoughts manage to float away. Boring. Traumatizing. Ghastly. Marked by the ominous presence of Cassie Wagner. Lightened up by my best friend. Phew, I'm really lucky to have her.

"It was okay," I say out loud instead. Dr. Collins stares at me in the same calm way, not letting me know if my answer frustrated her. If I were in her skin, I'd probably be losing it. But she's so patient, never losing a nerve. At least not in the sessions we've had until now.

Instead, she lets out a barely noticeable sigh, smiling at me in a compassionate way. "I understand why talking to me feels difficult. But I'm here to help you. I'm hoping you might open up in a safe environment that I'm providing you. Even if it's just to talk about school," she speaks up so softly that it almost disarms me. Almost. Damn, she's good. No wonder dad picked her.

I force a small smile on my face. I know very well that she's going to talk to him about today's session. She has to. I'm a minor. "Thank you, Dr. Collins, but I really don't want to talk about school," I turn her down as politely as I can.

She shoots right back, leaving me confused and with no response. "What do you want to talk about then?" she asks, pointing that searching gaze at me so intently, that I feel like I'm being interrogated. Suddenly, it feels like I've even forgotten my own name.

"I ... I don’t want to talk," I finally mumble, getting out that one answer she was trying to find. The woman studies my face for quite a few moments, before deciding to respond.

"It's okay, if you don’t want to. Can you answer something honestly? I won't judge you, no matter what you say," she then tells me. I freeze, not even knowing why my body reacts like that.

"Er ... I can’t say that I'll be honest, until I know what the question is," I say frankly, making her lips pull up into a small smile. She leans her elbows on the desk.

"Fair enough. On our last meeting, I suggested you start keeping a diary, to write down your feelings whenever you feel overwhelmed. Did you start doing that?" she finally asks the question, and I feel sort of relieved. I thought we were going somewhere deeper than that. Some place that I wasn't ready to dive into.

So, I straighten up a little, then say: "Okay, that's something I can answer honestly ... Yes. I started writing in a journal."

The doctor smiles at me even more happily. "I'm glad to hear that, Perrie. And how does that feel? Seeing your emotions, poured on paper?" she keeps digging. Well, since I'm already being honest ...

"It feels ... liberating," I admit out loud, almost surprised by my own self. I didn’t quite think about it until this moment, but yeah. I feel free whenever I get to open that notebook and scribble into it. Huh. I didn't even realize that, until she asked me about it.

Dr. Collins looks really pleased with me. "That's really great. Now, I want you to keep that habit up. We'll have another session in two weeks and talk about it, if that's okay. I'm unavailable next Monday," she informs me. "But we still have quite some time left today, so you're welcome to talk to me about anything. Even if you just make small talk."

About half an hour later, I'm already sitting in the car, waiting for dad. He's talking to the doctor, checking up on my progress. Which is basically nonexistent. But as he joins me in the car, he doesn't give me a hard time. We ride home in silence and my mind just slips into memories.

My grandparents lived in the countryside. Me and my brother used to spend our summers there, when we were little. Our grandma had us bake pies with her, with berries that our grandpa helped us pick. It was such a happy childhood and I know how rare that is in today's world.

Our grandpa taught us so much. I never would've been interested in astronomy, if he didn't sit with us on the porch every evening, and point out constellations. He would talk about how the universe is alive and breathing, just like us. How it moves, lives and eventually dies. That its existence is just like the normal process of life. We are so small, he used to say. A tiny particle of dust, floating in the air. It was my favorite part of the day, listening to his vision of the world.

Then again, no one could make me feel better the way he did. I remember how badly I fell, when I was six. I was riding my new bike, and I scrubbed off paint and everything. I was crying so hard, but not because my knees were all bloody. No, I cried because I damaged the bike.

By the time we got back to the house, he managed to calm me down. While nana patched up my knees, he disappeared somewhere. When I went looking for him, he was in the garage with Aiden, teaching him how to sand a bike. My bike. I sat next to them and watched in silence as they scrubbed the paint off completely. Then, grandpa brought out buckets with color, gave us both paintbrushes, and we started working. We used literally all the colors that he had in store. White, bright green like summer grass, light blue as the sky and a deep purple, like the first spring violets. The bike turned out a complete masterpiece. I was happy, Aiden was happy and my grandpa was even happier.

It takes me a while to realize that I've started crying. Oh, no, come on. Not now. I try to discreetly wipe my eyes, but I give myself away as I breathe in and let out a small sniffle. My dad takes one look at me and pulls over. "Pez, sweetie. Come here, it's alright," he tells me as he unbuckles his seat belt and leans over to hug me.

I bury my face into his shoulder, letting myself sob. And once the waterfalls start, they can't be stopped. I never had to face death before and to have someone be taken away like this ... Someone who was always so healthy and full of life ... It broke me. My whole body aches for his presence and I swear I can still smell his aftershave lotion sometimes. I know that I'm imagining it, but I know that I'll never forget that scent. "I-I miss him so much, dad," I sob into his shoulder.

My dad rubs my head in a comforting way. Soon, I realize that he's crying too. I figure it out by the long silence that follows before he finally responds, whispering: "I miss him too, kiddo."