March 13, 2026

Dear Diary,

You’d think honesty would be refreshing. Liberating, even. That’s what people like to say. Tell the truth. Open up. Share your feelings. Supposedly it clears the air.

It doesn’t. Not always.

Today I told my parents how miserable I’ve been at the dorms. Not dramatically, not theatrically…just the simple truth. The kind of truth that sits quietly in your chest and weighs a little too much. I thought they might understand. Or at least listen.

Instead, somehow, I became the ungrateful one.

Funny how that works. You confess you’re drowning, and people complain about the water you’re splashing on the floor.

I was already miserable. The dorms have a way of making a person feel small… like you’re present, but not exactly seen. Marginalized is probably the polite word for it.

I could write down everything that happened. Every little moment that led to this feeling. But tonight I don’t have the energy to dissect it like a crime scene.

All I know is this: I spoke honestly, and somehow that made things worse.

Not exactly the inspiring moral people promise when they tell you to open up.

But then again, people are terrible at predicting how other people will react. I should know better by now.

Good night,