First of all, if you haven't read the first two, you can check them out here and here.
Now without further delay here is the finale, the conclusion, the end of my writing.
Broken
Dear Diary,
Although it has been 6 months since I lost the most precious
thing, it still feels like yesterday. It isn’t something I can replace or find
a replica of. No-one can. It was my family. My perfect, little family. Mum, who
always had pages of her writing strewn across her study floor, who had her publisher always on her back
asking her when the next draft or chapter would be ready. Dad, who would have
endless meetings on because of work but still made time for dinner, who was always so positive even during times
when no-one could see the light. Then there was me. People call me the child of
everyone's dreams. I inherited my dad’s brains as well as my mum's creativity.
I had a boyfriend, was one of the populars at my college. Everything fell apart
because of the split.
My counsellor says I should write down how I feel about
everything in this diary. Except I don't know how to feel about
everything. I mean, it's all a jumble of
emotions. Like a knot you have in your hair but can't brush out. So my plan is
to go back to the start and work out how I feel about this situation.
I recall finding out so vividly. I came home on the bus,
walked down my little lane. Same old routine. I walked into our little cottage
and ran up the stairs, waiting for my mum to call me down to ask me about my
day. She didn't though. At first I thought she was in the middle of a
nail-biting chapter and would call me down after she’d finished. Again,
nothing. It was getting nearer to dinner time and there hadn’t been a peep.
That’s when I knew something was up.
I remember going downstairs, thinking of all the what-ifs and
trying to prepare myself. Not once did it cross my mind about the real circumstances.
When I entered the study the first thing I saw was my mum in
the middle of the room, crumpled up in a little ball like a bit of paper you throw
away. All around her was pages of writing, torn. Strewn all over the
floor. I asked her what was wrong and I
remember the exact words she replied with. ‘Your
father… he’s left me. He’s left us’
I didn’t believe her at first. I backed away from her study
and sprinted back up to my room. I picked up my phone and dialled dad’s work
mobile. At this point my hands were shaking and I was fighting the urge to cry
so hard. He picked up after two rings and I immediately asked the question.
When I heard him sigh, I knew it was true.
The next 3 months were extremely hard for me. I broke up with
my boyfriend, had a nervous breakdown in school and started going to
counselling. My counsellor has been really
helpful; she doesn’t ask too many questions and talks to me about my feelings
and gives me tips on how to control my nervous breakdowns.
After that I kind of started getting used to my new life;
living with mum one week, living with dad the next. They try and make it
consistent, but sometimes dad goes away on business trips.
I’ve finally figured out how I feel about the whole
situation. I guess there will be a part of all of us that will be lost forever
because of the spilt. Although we won’t like to admit it, we all know it’s true.
So to end this diary entry, I’ve come up with the theory that
we’re broken like little shards of glass. I am broken.
Hope you liked it! I'm now off to redesign the blog!
See you in the New Year!
Lucy xxx
P.S. Sorry I was offline for like 5 days. My little cousins were here so we were doing family stuff, but I'm back.
