Chapter One: Vickie
My name is Vickie. I’m 12 years old, and have been diagnosed with depression.
It all started when Dad left. Mom doesn’t really care, so I’m kind of left on my own. On my own. With bullies. Who think I’m weird.
When I try to tell my mom about my depression, she just shrugs it off, saying-
“You’re a teen, Vickie. It’s just a phase.”
I’m not a teen yet. And it’s not a phase. This is me.
I can’t pretend that I don’t wish I was normal. It’s impossible. I really do want to stop this: but I can’t.
Watching Grandpa die in my arms didn’t help either.
A few years back, after Dad left, Grandpa came to stay. He was tall, tan, and thin with long white hair trailing down his chest, almost reaching his stomach, which he usually put up into a messy bun. For a while there, he was the light in my 8 year old life.
One day, Mom left for the supermarket and Grandpa stayed. While she was gone, a thief broke in. Grandpa wasn’t strong or fast enough to stop them from hurting him, but he was smart enough to save me. The thief stabbed him in the chest. I called the police, and they were there within minutes. Grandpa died within seconds.
Ever since then, my life has been a living heck.
oh no that horrible!!!!!!! 😭😢 this makes me so sad... no sad is an insignificant word... ( I can't think of any at the moment any ideas?)
Miserable?
yes!!!!! that's a splendiferous word!!!!!!!!!!!