scar

september 19 2003

September 19 2003
I might as well update you on my life. I’m 15 now and I just started high school. I still have Oscar and I’m still friends with Kevin. We’ve been friends through middle school but he’s one of my only friends. I’m still not too good at making friends. I tend to stay inside and read or play video games. I’ve been mentally stable since I had a psychotic break from not taking my medication and spent a week in an institution a few years ago. Mom works as a receptionist at the bank, is treasurer of the school’s PTA, and has started dating a man named John Fletcher for a few months now. He used to be a repair man but now he works for some law firm. I went to the flea market with Kevin and found a black diary with a lock on it that looks exactly the same as mine except the lock is a bit squarer. I don’t think Mom will notice if I replace my journal with it. There’s this hidden panel in my closet that I keep secret stuff that Mom doesn’t know about so that’s where I’m storing you. I really could have just started writing in that new journal but I think I was meant to find you and that I should continue writing in here. I feel a weird connection to this journal. It feels like it’s a part of me.

october 3 2003

October 3 2003
My Mom has always been different than other moms. She’s very paranoid and secretive about everyday things. She said she’s been this way ever since Dad died. There’s things that she still doesn’t want to talk about, like the scar on her right palm that looks like an eye or something. It kinda looks too perfect to be a wound. Today my stepdad brought it up at dinner and she went silent for the rest of the meal. Maybe she got it during our house fire and she cut it to make it look nicer, like covering up a bad tattoo with a cooler one? Do they even do that with scars? Anyway, she refuses to tell how it happened, she gets all teary eyed. One time she said it was some painful memory. I’m starting to think she lost it and cut herself after Robert died since she blames herself for his death. Sometimes I feel so bad for her, like she’s one freak out away from just breaking and I wonder why she isn’t taking anything like me. I love her but she’s so very stubborn, and just as guarded. I still don’t really know what she does at the PTA meetings every Friday. She always says they work on school projects, but I never hear anything more about them. Speaking of meds, she also refuses to take any pill ever. Whenever she gets sick or the flu, she just rides it out. Sometimes she stares out the window for hours. She’s just very suspicious about everything. It's sad.