Diary of help me

3/24/17 - Entry 1

         Heya Poppy.
It's day 2 of camping and I'm already sick of it. I miss Emily, Alyssa, Ella, Uma, Adrianna- forget naming people! I miss everyone!

          I'm gonna leave my campsite today and start heading to Kentucky. Sadly, it won't be anywhere near where my bebe lives. So that sucks. This campsite was just meant to be a resting point in between the trip from my house to Kentucky, and that's exactly what it'll be.

           I've been all over the place this morning. I went on 3-4 bike rides in about 1 hour. Currently, I'm sitting on a bench writing this. It's nice out today. I love it when it's nice out. It means that I can play outside, and I love outside. Well, most of the time I do. When none of my friends or bebe are online, I normally go outside and blast music.

           Argh. I ripped part of my nail off and it hurts like all hell. 'How?' You may ask. First off, stop being so nosey Poppy. Secondly, it was because I gave into women's beauty standards. Before you ask how that ripped part of my nail off, lemme just explain. Okay, so I was shaving my legs because I started to become self-conscious, so I had gotten into the habit. An important aspect of the story is that there was music blasting in the background. Anyways, while I was lost in music the razor blade somehow latched onto my nail and pulled a small part of my nail off. The moral of the story is that I need to pay more attention.

          Hey, Poppy? Do you think that it's weird to talk to yourself or imaginary people? I know you can't answer, so I'm assuming that you said no. Whenever I'm alone, I'll talk to myself about anything I think of. I know it's a little weird, but I don't care. I like weird. Earlier when I went on my bike rides I used that time to talk to myself. I think that talking to yourself can really help you vent. I mean, you understand yourself the best, right? I'm pretty sure I do.

         Now that I've written some personal things in here, I'm kinda paranoid. Paranoid that someone will see me writing in you and try to take you. That's one of the bad things of having a diary/journal. At anytime I'm not paying attention someone could just take you and read you. Poppy, I really don't want anyone to read you. Not at all. For some reason, I'd rather post what's inside of you online rather than showing it to my friends in real life. But I'd definitely rather show you to my friends than my parents. My last choice would be my parents. Or maybe the counselor, because she's pretty much a direct chain to my parents.

         Well, I'm getting a bit antsy. I have been writing in you for the past 30 minutes, after all. I'll probably write in you again later after I ride my bike or something. Peace out Poppy.