Dear Diary,

I wish I could remember the last time a smile was across my face, but I can’t. It has been so long since happiness was in my life. I guess ever since my mom died I be off course. I want to feel that old feeling of joy and smile like I used to.

Maybe I’m complaining too much, but I don’t think I’m being unreasonable. How many kids can say their mother died on their birthday, and is now left with a father who is drunk half the time? How many kids can say I don’t have a single friend? How many kids can say I’ve been raped by two different family members, including my father? Not many.

I don’t want anyone to think I complain a lot because I don’t. The only reason I’m writing is because my aunt said I should. So, I am.

I don’t think this whole diary thing will work. I don’t know how I telling a book how I feel will help me in any way. It’s not like I’m opening up to a real person, but my aunt said it would help me.

I always seem to listen to her. My aunt, May, has always been there for me since my mother died, but she moved to Portland when she got married. Don’t think she didn’t want to stay though. I told her to go. I wasn’t about to bring her into my mess of a life. I love her to much to do that to her.









Only Yours,




Delilah