Dear Diary

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
Don't believe everything you read or see.

Submitted: May 03, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 03, 2017




Mrs. Stevens, my therapist, said I need a diary, due to the fact I don’t talk to anyone. And because of what happened. She said that I should write in it every day, since it’ll help me between sessions and she wants to see my progress. Just writing this makes me feel stupid.


Blah-blah-blah SHUT THE FUCK UP.

P.S. Still feeling stupid writing this.


Why the fuck do I need a shrink for? I’m not going crazy.

Or am I?


I haven’t really slept since what happened. Mrs. Stevens prescribed me sleeping pills, but I never take them.

P.S. I can hear her voice.


Last night, I finally slept. For a long time. I remember it now. We were coming down Valley Blvd., on our way to the new Donut Star on Valley and Rancho Ave. It was about 1 in the afternoon, a bit foggy and really cloudy. Diary was wearing her maroon skirt that ended just before her knees, over her black leggings. She wore red lipstick and tiny gray boots, with an ash black long sleeve. Her brown hair was straightened, falling just an inch under her shoulder. “Cigarette Daydreams” was playing on the radio, written and performed by Cage the Elephant.

“Remember this song?” She asked me, tilting her smile, like always.

“Cigarette Daydream,” I sang.

“You were only seventeen.”

“Soft speak, with a mean streak.”

“Nearly brought me to my knees,” we both sang together.

She gave me this smile, this smile I so adore. I kissed her soft red lips. Then, everything went black. The first time I woke up, I found my car wrecked in the middle of the intersection of Valley and Rancho. Everything went black again. I woke up a few minutes after, to the loud sirens of ambulances. A car hit my passenger side. Diary remained motionless, and beautiful. The first responders removed the second car from the side of mine and then removed Diary, put her in a stretcher. I kept looking at her, screaming as she was forced from my side. I had a broken nose and black eye from the impact of my air bag. The way Diary’s seat belt was placed by her neck, snapped it on impact. She died instantly. As to the guy who hit us, he mistakened the red light for a yellow, and hit the intersection full throttle.

That’s enough for today.


She was cuddling up against me, with her white shirt. She always wore this white polo when she slept, let her hair down, removed her bra and slept with only the shirt, over her underwear. Her back was facing me. I wrapped my arms around her waist. I kissed her back. She grabbed my hands, slid them up to her chest.

“Do you miss me?” She asked, in a low voice.

I started to cry. I put my head against her back. Once I picked my head up, she was gone.

Then I woke up.

P.S. I don’t want to wake up anymore.


I remember one time, we were watching the movie “Creep”, a mystery/suspense film, directed by Patrick Kack-Brice. We were laying in bed. Right from the start, she was already scared. She was hiding under the covers, barely peaking her eyes out to the T.V. I wrapped my arms around her waist, kissed her shoulder. Promised her everything is going to be okay, everything’s going to be alright.

I miss her.


I never noticed how big my bed was without her in it. I never realized how dreading it is to wake up knowing she won’t be by my side. Never realized how bad coffee tasted if she didn’t make it. Never knew how much I would hate my life without her.

I love her.


We were remodeling our kitchen last summer, I was changing the granite slabs on our kitchen counter and when I laid the slab down on the counter, I noticed an inch crack in the middle of the slab. After hauling this heavy ass slab from the warehouse, to my truck, to my garage, to my kitchen, I find a damn crack in it.

“Why don’t you just cover up the crack?” She asked me.

“Do you know what one crack makes?” I asked her, “another crack, and another, it’s not to easy to cover that up!”

I was breathing hard, biting my lip. She wrapped her arms around my waist, put her chin on my shoulder and kissed it. Why didn’t I hold my temper? Why did I take my anger out on her? Why did she stay with a piece of shit like me? I didn’t deserve her.

P.S. At once I knew, I was not magnificent.


I can hear her voice, in my dreams, in my thoughts, when I close my eyes, when I sleep.

“Do you love me?” She keeps asking me.

I do love her. With all my heart.


Beautiful Delirium.


We were walking at Grownbay Mall. She fell in love with a necklace, on a display in the local jeweler.

“Don’t buy it for me,” she demanded, “I’ll get it myself when I can.”

Whether or not I agreed with her doesn’t matter. I bought it for her not even an hour later. I love her. If she wants the world, or the teeth of a lion, I’ll get it for her, by any means necessary. She deserves everything and more.

“I’m not going to move from here until you start listening to me,” she demanded as we walked out of the jeweler.

“We’re going to miss the movie,” I told her, “stop playing. If you don’t come, I’m taking you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she told me.

I came up to her, grabbed her soft cheek and kissed her lips. Then I wrapped my arms around her waist and picked her up. I dragged her to the movie theaters not so far from the jewelry shop at the mall. Kicking, screaming, laughing, crying, I don’t care.

I don’t want anyone by my side, except for her.


It’s been a long time since I felt the cold edge of a razor. The first cut was never the deepest. No, never that. It started off with one. Then you lose count.


I remember the first day I met her, in Algebra 2 during my last year of high school. It was the first day of school, she sat next to me during 1st period, and she wore this white romper, with a flower pattern on it. Her hair was curled and ended just above her shoulder. She looked so beautiful, the way her romper complimented her curves and legs. I fell in love at first sight and she didn’t even speak a word to me. A few days later, she tapped me on the shoulder to help her with Manipulating Functions.

“To um, tell you the truth,” I stammered, “I- I love to help you but I don’t know how to do this either.”

She started to laugh and kept looking at me, smiling.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing here,” I told her.

“Oh really?” She asked me, smiling.

I nodded my head. This is when I first noticed her tilt her smile.

“You wanna do something?” She asked.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, they’re playing the new remake of ‘Carrie’,” she whispered, “at the Five Dollar Cinema.”

After that period, I helped her jump the front gate of the school. We took the number 14 bus, down Valley and Mount Vernon, until we reached the Five Dollar Cinema on 5th street. We walked around and talked, until the movie started at 11. I tried to focus on the movie, but she was sitting right by me and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. After, we took the bus back to school and we went our separate ways. Before we parted though she kissed my cheek. I turned so red and was left speechless. She left and we made love a month later.

I’m, just crazy about her.



P.S. I refuse to see Mrs. Stevens.


Note by the Author

This diary belonged to Henry C. Mitchell, who suffered from Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). After his last entry, he was found in the edge of Saint’s River. His right forearm was split open, he bled to death, while sitting on the edge of Saint’s Bridge. He fell off of Saint’s Bridge and ended up in Saint’s River.. His split personalities were called Love, Hate, Anger, Lust and Misery. They all present themselves in his diary. His DID came from a car accident he was in when he hit a car with two passengers. A woman died, but he was let go of all charges, since he was considered insane. He spent 2 years in Grownbay’s Psychiatric Institute and was sent home on December 1st, 2016. As to “Diary”, she never existed. That was a fiction of his imagination or the woman who died the day of the accident. Truth be told, he fell in love with a woman he never met.

© Copyright 2018 Erick Inzunza. All rights reserved.

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