Diary 2 / 14-years-old / Reading, Ohio
I’m probably depressed, but I’m a kid and I don’t have that word. Without a resource for getting help, I try to understand the emptiness by writing; and when that doesn’t help, I try asking god to give my feelings back. It seemed a solid step up from the wishing-on-a-star route I normally took.
A friend of mine who works with children pointed out there aren’t a lot of depictions of childhood depression in art and the media. Please feel free to share this with any adult struggling to talk with their child, or any *child* who may find writing to be an outlet.
I’m reading these entries as a woman in her 30s. But—especially considering the topic—I really want to facilitate remembering how very young I was. This is the girl who wrote that entry.
~and catch up with the February 25, 1995 entry for the backstory on my crush, and see below for my early experience with a therapist in my 20s~
And exactly 12 years later, I visit a therapist named Joyce for the second time. The first time was, by my admission, hard and weird. I thought about canceling our second appointment, but I go—and I’m so glad I did. She became my therapist and life-support for years. Below is my reaction to our second meeting.
April 27, 2008 email to Giovanni
click to listen