Dear Journal,
As usual, another rough day.
I can’t wake up without being reminded of “the big mistake you made” or being “the embarrassment to the family. My brother and I used to be cool, but now he just glances at me with disgust. I think my family has become a family.
After getting by the diatribe from my parents, it was a workout to get ready for school. The baby won’t let me be as flexible as I used to. Both putting clothes on and taking a shower is one of the hardest parts of the day. No one helps me, for the people that should don’t want to.
When 7:10 came, I walked over to the bus stop. Of course, right when I reach the stop, the bus rolled past. “Fuck”. Luckily enough, a car drove by to splash water on me. “Fuck”.
Once I got to school, it was halfway through second period. I tried to find any papers that said “Pre-Calculus” in my locker and walked to math class. The teacher glared at me as I walked over to my seat. I could already sense the change in atmosphere once I sat down. The boys in the back were already crumpling up pieces of paper, while the click of girls on the side was already murmuring. The paper balls started flying, and the girls were giggling. Why couldn’t they just leave me alone? They had no idea what I was going through. I ran out of the classroom bawling.
Of course, my mom didn’t want to pick me up, so I continued with the school day. At lunch, I finally got some peace and ate without annoyance. Once school was over, I took the bus back home. On my phone, I listened to six new voicemails from David saying that, “Bitch, that child ain’t mine.” Once I got home, I walked straight to my room to not hear the second round of self-examination. I was so tired from walking between classes and just emotionally drained.
I have no friends; I have no family; I have no social life; My reputation is destroyed. This baby has been on my mind, and David doesn’t want a part of it. This child will have a life just like me, but it’s just too hard to have a baby now. I’m too young for this, and I have no idea what the future holds. God help me—I mean us.
Sincerely,
Bonquiqui
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