[[ Part 1- Adele's Diary ]]
School life sucks. Ever have that feeling? Well I do. Everyday. I guess the only thing good about it is when it ends. Ok. So you think that's a very lame answer, but it's true. It is and there's nothing that you can say or do to convince me that school is worth the time and effort that we mindless students put in to it. What the heck. I'm talking to a diary as if it is alive. Something is seriously wrong with me. I'm fine with the whole keeping a diary thing, where you write all your thoughts and hopes and dreams down, but when I start to think that it's a real person who can talk to me? Well they are probably the first signs of insanity. Will go and ask Mum... on second thoughts no. Just because she's a psychiatrist, does not mean that I go to her with every fleeting thought I have about being insane. The last time I did that, which was only yesterday (cringe), she sat me down and gave me the whole lecture about insanity: "Adele, darling. You are not insane. If you believe you are, then of course you will be. So don't think about it sweetie." And all of that in the sweet sickening voice she uses with her patients. Honestly. Why won't she treat me like a DAUGHTER? Is it that difficult to be a responsible parent? The only 'good' thing she's ever done for me, is give me this diary, telling me to record events, write my thoughts, whatever. So here goes. Here's my record of events.
Today I started at that new school. Everyone else knows everyone else and I'm sitting on the bus like a loner. Wait. Not like a loner. Just loner. That's what I was. A loner. We got an assignment thing today, of all days. A debate. Great. Just what I need. Another chance to totally ruin any chance of making any friends. So I got put into this group with a professional tongue wrestler, a bitch and an airhead. Great beginning to a new school. Looking at those sorts of people, why do I get the feeling that I'm going to be doing all the work? And then I'll get all the blame when we stuff the whole thing. Just because I came from a snotty private school, I'm considered smart. My mum and dad only wish. Just because I have smart arse parents does not mean that I have inherited that smart gene, or whatever it is that makes you smart. Oh yeah, your brain. See what I mean?
Ick. Since I don't really want to depress myself any further, I am about to contemplate the use of this diary, which Mum says is supposed to help me out of depression. I guess this proves that my mum isn't as a good a psychiatrist as I think she is, or I'm just have a very severe case of depression. That's one of the topics I know (now) never, ever to bring up with Mum. I learnt that at a very young age, when I came home from school after hearing one of the older kids talking about depression. "What's depression, Mummy?" I had asked innocently. I remember Mum's whole face change to show five different emotions in 1 second. First there was concern, fear, anger, confusion then lastly worry. The concern and worry are not the same, just to clarify. I still remember what she told me. "Honey, you do not need to know about depression. It doesn't exist in our society." Now, I live in a constant fear or what would happen if Mum found out the severity of my condition. OK. It isn't as bad as it sounds. It's probably only those mood swings that come with puberty. It just sounds so much more severe when you call it depression, don't you think. (Talk about going insane.)
To be on the safe side, I think that I should just quit writing stupid things in this diary and consider whether or not I will write more tomorrow or something.