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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 – Advanced)
Topic: Bitter and Sweet (05/28/09)

TITLE: In The Corner Of My Bedroom
By Sara Harricharan
06/03/09


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Jumbled words and thoughts spilled from the recesses of my mind, trickling over to the empty pages of my diary. I felt like the tattered silk adorning the cardboard covers. The spine was skinny and I was jealous. It was decorated with daubs of nail polish. I thought it was cool. No one else does. Maybe because Iíd die before I ever let anyone read my entire life.

I couldnít make my hands stop moving. They kept on writing and smoothing. The pages were filling up.

None of it was good. The bitterness returned.

What kind of person am I? What kind of person writes these things about her own mother? I donít understand anymore, as purple gel pen scribbles filled the page. It was just a bar of Twix, she didnít have to embarrass me!

The kind of things I only dare to write in here, drain the poison from my mind, intended for my eyes only. Someday I will burn this diary, before someone reads it and labels me insane.

Maybe I am. I donít know.

The nonsense scribbling exhausted itself. I changed pens to the happy orange color to lift my spirits. My eyes ached again, but the darkness of the room helps. Iím tired. But it will take a while to regain any energy at all. Energy. A sickly, sweet feeling. Like exercise. Exercising hurts.

I donít need them anymore.

They donít seem to make muchs difference.

Dear Daddy, how did I end up with my mother? Doesnít she understand the weight of her words on me? Doesnít she know how much of my confidence rides on the replies to the questions I ask her? I donít ask stupid questions. Iím not like the other girls, getting things colored, pierced and tattooed, while running off with some bonehead. I even try to get good grades like a good girl. But nothing I do is ever right. My face is square instead of round and thatís bad. I stay up too late and play non-existent games on my crashed computer. Iím too fat and my clothes look awful. Iím broke and shouldnít con people into buying things for me. Iím not all that, Daddy. Iím not. Mothers are supposed to be sweet and good. Good to you.


Bitter tears splotched on the creamy page. I smeared them away with the edge of my nightgown. I didnít dare cry. No one could hear me now.

I havenít played games in months. You know whatís wrong with my computer. I sure donít. Itís broken though. A blue screen of death. I canít help the shape of my face and I donít think anythingís wrong with it. Esven if there was, shouldnít I make the best of it? You donít think Iím ugly, Fa, I know that. But it hurts still. I donít con people into buying me things either. I canít help being the only girl. They shower me with the girly things Iíd never have the guts to try anyway.

The pen lingers on the page, but this private conversation is suspended. I do not know if I can chance to write my heart to Him. For all of my sixteen years, I am afraid. Afraid to be real with Him.

Again.

DaddyÖFatherÖI am fat. I know I am. Size 3 isnít exactly flattering, but at least itís not a size 5! Iím trying to eat well. Iím not skipping meals or throwing up or anything. I donít have an eating disorder. Iím not trying to insult you either itís just thatÖif Iíd lose a few pounds and my stomach didnít stick out so much, Mom would quit picking on me. She wouldnít call me fat and she wouldnít complain about my clothes, which really arenít that tight. People also wouldnít ask me if I was pregnant just because a tunic top doesnít fit my shape like everyone elseís. Iím unique arenít I? Thereís nothing wrong with meÖis there?

I cannot bear to write anymore. It is getting too personal. Too much to handle.

Within the patchwork walls Iíve built, I am safe enough for now.

The golden wrapper glittered from the faint glow of the lava lamp. I closed the diary and tucked it in my spare purse, hanging inside my winter coat. It is safely hidden. Bending beside the bed, I retrieved the candy bar and tore open the wrapper.

First bite is sweet. Second is bliss.

Then the crying begins.

Again.

©


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This article has been read 621 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Robyn Burke06/05/09
This is so deep. Strong vivid descriptions and a real sense of the pain the mc lives. love the way the letter to Daddy unfolds to reveal WHO she is writing to, This really touched me,
Shirley McClay 06/08/09
Very well written and powerful! Heartbreaking. Wow.
Colin Swann06/08/09
A parent's words can affect a life - I know someone who could be writing this diary. You are bang on topic. An interesting story. Thanks!
Phee Paradise 06/08/09
I really felt the heartbreak. But I was confused - maybe I was supposed to be - about the problem she was writing about. Was it her mother's expectations or was it an eating disorder?
Mary Lou Cook06/08/09
What a sad story that is too many times true. The mc made the reader feel her pain. Good job.
Genia Gilbert06/08/09
This is gripping to me. I'm afraid it speaks for many young girls under so much pressure, even from parents, to be perfect. How good to know a Father Who understands and loves each one exactly as they are. May this message get across to many who need it.
Dee Yoder 06/09/09
Very touching, Sara! Many times I had some feelings like this when I was a teen. A mother's words hold so much power and often, Moms don't know how those words can sting long after they have been released in anger or frustration. Such a bitter/sweet journey as a teen!
Carol Slider 06/10/09
What a real and heartbreaking job of portraying a young girl who desperately needs a mentor. You made me really care about her--she seems so isolated, confused and lonely. Good job.
Mona Purvis06/10/09
So similar to one I recently wrote...so, I know the emotions/pain. Hard to write, isn't it? And yet, we go on with hope and renewed desire to do it differently ourselves.
Good writing.
Mona
Beth LaBuff 06/10/09
Heart-breaking and gripping. The words the mother and father will never see cry out to the reader.
Marijo Phelps06/10/09
Totally gripping. You drew me in - incredibly real. And she is crying out to the Lord. Most of us weren't size 5 when we were born but it shared the angst. Powerfully written.
Marilyn Schnepp 06/11/09
The "bitter" part of this week's topic was easy to find...but the only "sweet" part was that candy bar near the end. Good job, although sad...and I can empathize because - Been There/ and Done That
Joanne Sher 06/11/09
Oh honey - this is INTENSE and amazingly descriptive and engaging. You tugged at my heartstrings, sweetheart. Excellent.