Like a blooming flower Подписаться

Dear Diary, The date is January 3rd, 1965. I just got home from school, I hated it. All the kids make fun of me, make fun of my inability to focus, my lack of impulse control. Why did god make me like this, why couldn’t I be normal like the other kids on the playground? Why can’t I make any friends? My mom said I’m just a little awkward and a late bloomer. But even the awkward kids have friends. I have none.

All I do all day is go to school, get bullied, come home and play with my toys, and wish I had someone to play with. My mom is going to take me to the doctor tomorrow and get a checkup. Whoopee.. I hate the doctor, all the noises make me extremely uneasy. All the coughing and pen clicks make me want to go insane. Anyways I got to go to sleep.