I woke up kind of edgy this afternoon from my dream... I guess Justin F and I had reconciled in some form, because I was actually spending time with him. I was being a smartass about something as usual, so he blew me away with his comeback... "That's what you said in your diary, right?" and I swear I almost had a heart attack. I never told my boy that I had an online diary fearing he'd hunt it down and barge into my mind. And here he was, proclaiming something about my diary and its existence. So I woke up and started thinking... does he know about my diary? I had a google hit one time with his full name in it, but I highly doubt he's smart enough to track me down. Besides, he'd probably have run away from me long ago if he truly knew how fucked up I was.

I missed my physiotherapy session today. My dad got so wrapped up in my sister's appointments that he completely forgot about me and didn't wake me up (I will get my alarm clock back from Damieon). My sister's been complaining about her foot for a few days now, saying it got blistered from all the running away she's been doing. It really did start getting bad and got so swollen she could hardly take her sock off. The doctors thought an infection got right down to the bone, so she had an x-ray this morning to rule that out. She went to school, then to an interview with social services and surprised us all. She doesn't want her own apartment; I guess she knows she's getting royal treatment here and doesn't want to actually do chores. Instead, she's getting help in finding a part-time job, when she told us she didn't want one. I really do not understand that girl. She should have come with an instruction manual when my parents brought her home for the first time. And now she's run away again and as usual, we never know when she'll be back.

Each passing day has been a bit easier on me. I no longer feel depressed, I can even get along with my family for the most part. I miss my baby more than words can say, but I know I can get through it all. I'm still working on Brayden's website, I guess it will be a work in progress for a while. If anyone has gone through something similar, here's a memorial website for you to check out. I actually stumbled upon it a few years ago, never knowing it would actually be of any use to me. It's weird how a year or two can cause a lifetime of change.

Tomorrow's my doctor's appointment. I'm really nervous about going... I really hate getting flack from my doctor, of all people. I can see her giving me a lecture, "I want to put you on birth control. You're not ready for a baby yet, you just had a miscarriage and that means something. You're a smart girl, and no one can make your life better for yourself but you. You're the one who chose to live with your dad and drop out of school, you can be the one to turn things around." Blah, blah, blah. Fuck you. I've never liked her, I'm positive of that. I never even had a family doctor until she came along. By the time I had chronic illnesses, it was only logical that I have a constant doctor to monitor my health. It was around this time that my severe depression reared its ugly head again and that was her first impression of me; a very ill, very disturbed teenager. I remember the way she would look down on me because of my depression. I remember the disappointed look on her face when she first saw me in the ICU after my suicide attempt. I grew to hate her with a passion, and every appointment would be like pulling fingernails. I always felt like shit around her because she made me feel as though I was trying to be depressed for attention. Sometimes I just wanted to yell at her... make her feel like dirt for the way she saw me. But I was only a depressed teenager, I didn't want to give myself any more trouble than I already had. Over the past few years I've learned to block her face out, just use as little eye contact as possible. I've learned how to tell her only what she wants to hear, and not a thing more. But I dread going tomorrow. She'll sit there and talk about my baby and my miscarriage, and how she wants to try and fix me. If this appointment is the last I see of her for a long while, I'll be happier than you could ever imagine. I just hate hospitals, period.

My dad and I are still not on the best of terms. He knows I've been depressed... he may not know the whole story behind my last relapse, but he knows I'm feeling shitty and he's been quite understanding. He's kind of been pushing me to either get a job or take some classes, but he hasn't forced it on me... he knows I need to work at my own pace. But he doesn't know I'm on antidepressants, so he gets really annoyed with my sleeping habits. He gives me crap for staying up at all hours of the night and sleeping through the day. I want to back myself up, but I don't want to tell him I need medication to feel better about myself. I've been trying different antidepressants since I was 18 or 19 and I always hid it away from my dad. He would take me to the pharmacy, and I'd slyly pick up my refills and leave him out of the loop. Hell, when I had to go for my ultrasound after I lost Brayden, he didn't find out about it until the hospital called. I didn't tell him why I had to go, but he took me anyway. Sometimes I wonder how he can stand behind me when I don't tell him things that he knows are going on... but he's my dad, he's awesome.

Anyway, I haven't eaten yet today. I've had a hard time convincing my dad that I'm actually eating, so I'm going to poke through the cupboards and see if there's anything edible.

Plus, hockey's on and already into third period. Go Canadiens!

I'm wearing: Tommy Girl tee, Adidas tear-away pants, stripey socks, little brother's sandals (and my glasses!)
I'm listening to: Beautiful *Christina Aguilera*
I'm thinking: I should eat