Dear Diary,

No. That's cringy.

Dear Journal?

That's worse. I'm humanizing and object. Do you have feelings? Can you hear me? Whatever, I'll just write. Why am I explaining this to you?

Hi, I'm Gina. Don't call me GiGi. I'm not a child, contrary to popular belief. There shouldn't be anyone reading this, unless my psychologist breaks her contract. Or my mother once again decides I'm having intercourse and doing drugs and goes through my room again. My town has practically nobody in it, who would I be having sex with anyway? I could give somebody a whole tour of this shithole in ten minutes. We have a school, a food store, couple random run-down shops here and there, and the pride and joy of our town: the football field. It probably sounds cliche, and honestly it is. It's like Friday Night Lights but with murder. Oh, forgot to mention, we have a serial killer. Nobody can catch them, can't even identify them. They're known as Killer Banksy, because they always make an art piece out of the crime scene. Absolutely gorgeous pieces may I say. I still don't understand why Dr. Karrie is making me do this. All I'm doing is talking to an inanimate object in the form of writing. At least it's not those stupid ink blots. She's all like:

"What do you see?" And I go:

"Ink on paper."

"I mean, what do you really see?"

"I don't know, a face?"

"OH MY GOSH! You have cancer!"

Stupidest shit on the planet. I guess through this she wants me to get out my feelings through writing. I have feelings. I just don't need to cry all the time. I'm entirely and completely fine, yet I still required to write in a book. Now I'm all worked up, and as Dr. Karrie says:

"Just put everything down and breathe. In and out. Like this!" Then she'll proceed to let out the most obnoxious breaths you've ever heard. Stupid, but it works. I'll see you tomorrow. No, I won't. You're a book. You're not real. Fuck this shit.

-Gina B

I'm done calling Dr. Karrie a doctor. She will from now on be Karrie. All she does is hand me a packet and tells me to write in my book and not to hurt myself. And apparently, she's allowed to read the things I write. Thats just all kinds of fucked up, isn't it? It's like she's allowed to break into my brain and control all of my thoughts. Like she can take over me. Hell no. She's probably gonna get mad for how much I'm swearing. She did last time. Well Karrie, I bet you'll really enjoy this:

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

That's what I think about your little no swearing policy. It's my book I can write whatever I want. You know what else she said? That I should treat you like a human. You're not a you. You're an it. You're literally a book I'm not gonna be like "Oh diary you won't believe what happened today!" Who does she think I am, a 12 year old? She also said I shouldn't spend so much time writing about her, I should write about myself and my life. She practically is my life. The court said I have to talk to her on the phone daily and see her once a week. If it was up to me, I would just take myself out of my home, but apparently that's not very Christian. The fuck does that even mean?! Crappy ass justice system in my opinion. This whole stupid book thing is getting on my last nerve. I doubt I'll ever write in you again. YOU'RE NOT A YOU!!

-Gina B

A girl died.

Her name was Vanessa. She was loved in our school. I'm pretty sure it was only because she was pretty and smart. She was the star player on the volleyball team, everyone was sure she would go pro, make a life for herself. But Vanessa had secrets. A couple people knew about these secrets, just close friends who she had told. She told her best friend, Claire, who told everyone. She was sleeping with the principal. Apparently, her grades were pretty bad, and she needed some "extra help". She performed sexual favors for our principal in favor for straight A's. Of course, this caused a massive scandal in our town. But what shocked us, was that Vanessa was gay. Yeah, our ex-principal, a female. I think that's the real reason Vanessa didn't want this to come out, she wanted to stay in the closet. Her parents are hella homophobic. I'm not surprised she killed herself.

Karrie told me I should write about how I feel concerning the death of Vanessa. Honestly, I don't give a fuck. It's not like were close. She was a basic white bitch. Like, I guess I'm supposed to feel sad such an amazing soul died so young, but I never liked her anyway. She got on my nerves. I wouldn't really care if I was her friend. She wanted to die, we should respect her choice, you know? I'm pissed she died though cause for the next week or so I'm required to go to memorial services and put a flower on her locker and mourn the death and sweet ole Vanessa. If it was 40 so years ago nobody would give a fuck cause she liked girls. I'm glad we're progressive, especially because we're a small redneck town, but I don't care about Vanessa. Nobody's even gonna remember her next month. The next big thing will happen and everyone's gonna start talking about that. All it's gonna be is RIP Vanessa then OMG Ty cheated on Cherry with Ivannia?! Oh shit, forgot, I'm not supposed to know about that. For the record it's fucking obvious, Cherry's just dumb, but that's gonna get out eventually, and I think it might be sooner then later. But don't look at me, I didn't say anything.

-Gina B

They've made me see the school counselor. They said I need a space space to "decompress". Now I have to eat lunch in there every day. I already see a psychiatrist, what else do they want from me? There isn't anything wrong with me. I'm a normal person. Sometimes I have dark thoughts. Sometimes I act on them. Anyways, the school counselor is called Ms. James. She calls me sugar baby. She's pretty young, maybe mid 30's. I don't hate her. I guess it's better than eating lunch alone in the cafeteria. Now I eat with Ms. James. At least I don't have to deal with the random throwing of food above my head. I see why it's getting thrown, it's toxic. Just listen to the schedule:

Mystery Meat Monday

Walking Taco Tuesday, made with said mystery meat

Waffle Wednesday

Home Cooked Thursday, mystery meat again!

Pizza Friday

Besides the mystery meat, it all sounds good doesn't it? Now, why don't I explain the meals...

Mystery Meat Monday: mystery meat slop, a brown apple, and a bag of wet carrots

Walking Talk Tuesdays: off-brand Tostitos with a deadly amount of the meat inside that's been in there so long the chips are soggy, some cheese fresh out of the spray can, and a week-old orange

Waffle Wednesday: all you can eat soggy waffles, nothing else, just the waffles

Home Cooked Thursday: mystery meatloaf, liquid mashed potatoes, and green bean water with one green bean

Pizza Friday: cheese and sauce, no bread

See?! I told Ms. James about this, she told me never to eat school lunch. She gave me a nacho lunchable. My favorite. I do really like Ms. James. I don't like the career path she choose, but that's okay. Counseling isn't real. It doesn't change anything. I've been forced into going since the incident, and it hasn't changed anything. I still would do it again. And again. And again.

-Gina B