Dear Diary,

I saw something and I can’t unsee it and it’s causing me great stress. I know my mother saw it too, because we looked at each other at the time, but I’m scared to bring it up to her now. The conversation will be upsetting, so I guess we just let it go and hope she forgets.

Why are old men so creepy sometimes? Girls have to be on guard their whole lives, even with family members and it fucking sickens me.

I’m very angry and confused on how to proceed…in life…in general.




Dear Diary

After one year of teaching 8th grade, I’ve figured out that I NEED to keep on my original track of child psychology. These kids talk to me, everyday, about some really big and scary stuff. Kids who’ve not talked to me all year in class open up about some really heart-wrenching shit in private and want me to help them.

They don’t want to go to Guidance. They want to come to me.

Was this a correct step in the meandering pathway to my original career plan?

My (sometimes begrudging) life lesson: If children, animals, and the mentally handicapped are immediately drawn to you, don’t ignore the gift.


I’m Grace and only 60% fulfilled.

It’s little things like not “allowing” me to get the pastries I want at Costco. Or never having actually proposed. Or being ridiculous about a vasectomy, even though we already decided to not have children. Or every single time he gets himself something from the kitchen and doesn’t ask if I need anything. Not to mention the lack of passion and feeling talk and all those other things I used to think I needed.

That episode of Will and Grace last night got to me.

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Dear Diary

It’s only been 3 months : I absolutely hate being a teacher. I don’t know if it’s just this school or what, but the depression is just made 10x worse having to go there every day. It’s starting to happen again–the crying–the intense bouts of sobbing that let me know things are definitely not ok. I think I need more medicine but I have no time to go find a new psychiatrist anytime soon. Mom thinks I have enough “things” to go on disability. It still makes me mad when she says things like, “I thought your depression was gone–you take your pills, right? That’s still a thing? ”

Yes, I’ve always taken my pills and yes, it has been “a thing” since you wouldn’t take me to a psychiatrist when I asked you to at 16. It makes me sick now to miss a pill. The hardest pills to get off of and on to something that works better. I’m 35 and still wish I were dead every single day. I won’t go through with suicide–I feel like I’m too old now–but maybe there’s a window where it’ll be ok again after the age of 60. Or maybe I’ll get cancer or something and need to take the humane way out.

Who knows what tomorrow may bring.