Ear's Diary-Personal Narrative

ear Diary, I woke up to voices louder than my heart. The beats lashed out at every word. There was screaming. My sisters and I scrambled out of the safety of our rooms to get a look at all the commotion. My parents were getting increasingly infuriated, almost to the point where I thought they may even rip each other’s throats out, and I seemed to be the only one who knew exactly why. My sisters were always oblivious. No matter how much they begged for answers; I knew I was never going to tell them. Even though it was a school night, my sisters and I listened in for as much as possible; more information was always key. Our questions were always left unanswered. We laid on the musty carpet in the dark hallway searching for information.

He has chosen to finally start caring about us, he was attempting to invade my life. Well, more for my little sister. Like where in the world was he before? He just has to pretend that he cares for all of us, because of his fiancè. There was officially no reason for which I had to see or even communicate with him, except for the court orders which I was never truly disclosed upon. Emancipation may even be a choice! My god, it would make everything so much simpler. My father even began to push me into forced therapy because he needed to “fix” the problem: which was me. After talking to the psychologist we found that the real problem was my dad. Abandonment and all. He was the reason why we were always on edge with one another. The therapist recommended that we should come talk to her together one day. He originally chose not to go. Wonder why? Well, he was the king, he could do no wrong. So why would he have to pay to hear about how bad I was? Turns out he was wrong. His new “lady-friend” made him go today. Well not exactly new, they began dating almost immediately after the divorce. But that is a story for another time. No matter what was said in the meeting my dad could do no wrong, and I was at fault for everything. Even the

We were getting together for the annual block party with the neighbors. Something our family looks forward to every single year. The flames roared around the campfire, as we all caught up and ate s’mores. My neighbors were all runners and they began discussing their summer’s mileage and their upcoming seasons. As a runner, I was immediately intrigued. The idea that my little neighbor was beginning to take after me was so exciting but so scary at the same time! I was ashamed of the lack of mileage I had run this summer, the girl five years younger me was running the same amount. It was unacceptable, I had failed myself and my mother. If she were to hear this I would’ve been done for, she never could understand the reason that I decided to secede from my position on the cross country team. I could remember how thin and ‘healthy” I was when I ran over fifteen miles a day. I had become physically sick because of the mileage between soccer and cross-country and even gym, but that didn’t seem to matter to anyone. I was an extreme competitor, I needed to outdo everyone else: in running, school, and weight. I had to win the what I perceived to be the unspoken weight competition. Choosing the smallest and healthiest plate would make me feel like a champion, sometimes I would even ‘forget” to eat. I continued like this for many years, even after the intense pressure of cross country. After years of struggling, I officially broke. My neighbors