Dear Diary
By Holly Day
Thursday, September 8th
Dear Diary,
The therapist is a cunt, and I spent $9.95 on you. There was one journal for $8.95, but it had flowers on the cover. I’m not a flower kind of guy, or maybe I am, but it was red. I’m not a red diary kind of guy.
Okay, here goes. According to the cunt, I’m depressed. Surprise, surprise. It doesn’t mean I’m insane, it’s only my brain screaming for a timeout. It looked like she believed herself when she was talking. I know better. I’ve gone insane. Christopher has turned me into a crazy person.
Dramatic? I hate that the voice in my head sounds like Christopher.
Okay, so I’m depressed—is it like being an alcoholic and saying it out loud is part of accepting it will make it easier to get over? It doesn’t matter. Since I’m depress
