tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16350056628566662732024-02-19T23:24:30.098-08:00Prozac Diary: Ripping the Pages FreeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10432999695988142412noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635005662856666273.post-39605970843198630282014-01-11T16:56:00.000-08:002014-01-11T16:56:46.782-08:00Entry 2: June 25th
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">June
25th</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Dear Diary,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I’ve been avoiding to write, worrying that
you’ll judge me, too. You’ve been observing me from my desk.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I stare at you for a moment then hop on my
laptop to surf the net or IM my friends. Once I grow bored, I stare at you and
sluggishly shuffle my feet out of my room to grab something out of the fridge.
I return and glare at you, compelling me to flip the pages of a magazine or
book to keep my mind occupied.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But yet, you’re always <em>there</em> staring
back at me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I figured that you’re not going to label me
like the others, remark on what I wear, or murmur that I cover my arms most
times just to hide wounds of slitting my wrists; nothing but rumors.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">You’re actually <em>different.</em><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />
You’re truth, you’re one of my friends. You listen and respect me like a
genuine pal. You’re bout like my stuffed elephant Jazzy that I’ve had since I
was 5 years old. The only difference is that you’re not squishy and soft like
him.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Your Friend,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Elizabeth “Raven” Jameson</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10432999695988142412noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1635005662856666273.post-2287938163644195992014-01-11T15:59:00.000-08:002014-01-11T16:30:00.828-08:00Entry 1: June 23rd<br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">June
23rd</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Dear Diary,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So, I suppose I’m titled “chemically
imbalanced” instead of “emo” like strangers tend to judge me as—strangers that
attend at my school and label me. Eh, it's almost like stating whether I’m
chicken or fish. Obviously, Jessica Simpson would think that.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I’ve never written in one of these diaries or
journals, except during language arts when we have those retarded Writer’s
Workshops when we <em>have</em> to write shit for a grade. What’s different is
that, this isn’t for a grade. As Dr. Gates calls it, “It’s to show how you’re
progressing.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Once I returned home from Dr. Gates' office, I
decorated it with skulls and a few of my ol’ nicknames or quotes, even put a
few of my favorite bands on there. What I noticed was that I never drew any
hearts on it like a normal girl, hinting at the fact that I wasn’t normal at
all.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">A normal girl doesn’t dress in black, saggy
clothes. A normal girl doesn’t mope in her room and writes poetry consistently
about suicide. A normal girl doesn’t take medication for unstable, emotional minds.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I did want to attend my meetings with Dr. Gates,
I just didn’t want to take the medication. Elise’ll freak once I break the news
to her Monday, just hope she doesn’t take it overboard. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Your Friend,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Elizabeth “Raven” Jameson</span> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10432999695988142412noreply@blogger.com0