Dear Diary,

Sitting at my desk, I look out the window and watch the world go by. I feel confined, trapped, completely out of touch with reality. It’s the beginning of summer break, and I long to be back at my boarding school.

My family has problems; each one of us individually, too. I’m the first to admit I have problems. My brothers are obnoxious and inconsiderate, my parents controlling and unreasonable. I wish I could leave and love them from a distance.

I can best explain their non-accepting attitude towards me using a recent experience. My mother brought up the subject of tattoos in the car and told me she had found the drawing I had labeled “my future tattoo.”

I felt my throat tighten up. This was not something I wanted to talk about. Where had I left that drawing, anyway? It had been on my desk, last I checked.

My mother wanted to know why on earth I would want to mutilate my body. I understand that she thinks I’m destroying the body she made. However, it’s my body, and I plan to do what I want with it.

The tattoo was of a elegant bow and quiver with the words “fear is the mind killer” scrawled beneath them. I knew that in the future I would need hope to keep moving on, to conquer all the fear residing in my heart, so I planned on getting this tattoo to remind me everything.

She asked me if I wanted to look like some kind of freak; to march around looking like a tramp. She started crying and saying how could you do this to me?

Explaining my feelings are difficult, even to you diary. Because the judgment I receive from my parents is so great that at times I feel like caving in.

And that day, that day I did give an inch. Just a little as I got out of the car, walked to my room, closed the door, and took my pocketknife to my wrist.