My diary, my thoughts

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By Celestina Oranye

Bottling up hurt and anger without telling someone about it is one thing I always found  extremely difficult to do. I would always run to my friends to express how hurt and sad I was at least to feel relieved but it was never as expected. I was always judged even without talking. Their body language and signs said it all. I know you would probably laugh and ask yourself if this girl was okay. How could I possibly expect to tell someone something without being judged? But do, come out from that thinking. I just need a pat on the back before the judgment.

I heaved a sigh of relief as I finally found an empty classroom. I entered inside and sat at the far end corner  of the room. I like staying in a quiet place before writing in my diary. I zipped open my backpack and brought out my small book: the small book that knew my entire secrets. I call it my Bestie. The only thing that listens to me, hears my cry and allows me to pour out my heart without the fear of being judged or my secrets leaked. I always held it tight, to avoid it getting into the wrong hand.

I packed my blonde hair in dough and allowed tears stream down my face freely. I never made an attempt to stop it from flowing. Slipping open the book I began to write. “Hey Bestie, it’s been a long time we talked and here I am now to tell you how hurt and confused I am ………….” I closed the book quickly and raised my head sharply cleaning my tear-stained face as I heard some footsteps approaching the classroom.

I plastered a smile on my face as I noticed my friends walk into the classroom. “Hey, you are here, and we have been looking all over for you,” Judy commented, walking closer to me with Chelsea following closely behind. I was afraid of opening my mouth because my voice might betray me that I had been crying. I just smiled again and nodded my head.

Chelsea just looked at me without emotions in her eyes. Permit me to say I hated and liked her all at once. There were moments I really felt like strangling her but that had never been in my nature. She usually acted like she didn’t care about anything and anyone.  She only showed traces of care when you were in deep trouble. I just ignored her stare to avoid getting the murderous thoughts in my mind again. I so much hated her attitude.

Judy noticed the tense look in my eyes and stepped in. I like her but I hate some things about her too. Crazy, right? How could I possibly call some people my friends, yet I hate them? “I need to attend to something. I will come home later,” I heard myself say and they nodded. Chelsea left without a word and not even as much as a backward glance. I knew she noticed the tears on my face but never cared to ask. She believed that being emotional or crying was for the weak. Judy followed suite, flaring her gown. She normally did that whenever she felt her dress was beautiful. But actually, this one was old and worn out.  Anyway, who was I to tell her about it? She hates negative comments with passion. So, I swallowed my comments. Maybe my stint at Kenedum Psychiatric Clinic clouded my judgment. I feel safe only when I am with my diary. Clutching my backpack, I wore my cap and trudged slowly out of the class.

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