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Date: December 10, 1997
Dear Diary,
Lately my psychology teacher has suggested that I write about my past a bit. She feels that I keep things hidden or that I keep my feelings bottled up. Since I don't want to go to a shrink she suggested I get a journal or something to express myself with. So I went out and I bought you, or rather this diary.
Now, where should I begin?
When I was seven years old I was diagnosed with rickets disease, both of my legs were deformed, but not to a point where they couldn't be fixed. By fixed I mean straightened for the rest of my life with painful surgeries. Many people blamed it on my father. He was abusive both mentally and physically.
My mother had skipped town on me and my father long before I could remember. The only thing I know about her is that she probably has the same red hair and freckles that I do. It was one gift she'd given me. The doctors said that my red hair helped me with my vitamin D deficiency by converting sunlight into the vitamin.
But the damage was already done.
When I turned ten I was put up for adoption and a nice couple in East side Gotham adopted me. They got paid to take me for my surgeries and I got a place to stay. I was never really comfortable with my adopted parents.
School, however, was the worst part of my life. It was a grungy public school, the type where if you were going to be a bully you strived to be the best. I was called names, picked on, teased, and pushed around. They bullied me about my deformed legs, the fact that I walked with a cane, and made fun of my face and red hair. There were days when I wished they'd just leave me alone. It wasn't my fault. So why did they do this?
I don't know. I never bothered to find out. I fazed through high school, almost like some sort of ghost. I didn't even go to my prom and it wasn't just because no one asked me. College got better. I'm in my third year of my law degree right now at Gotham's University. It takes up most of my time and my 'parents' are thrilled. I live alone in my own house with my dog Duncan and I work part time at a local law office getting coffee and mail for big hot shot lawyers.
Everyone is so proud of me; they think I'm so brave.
Sometimes I wonder what real bravery is like.
Surgery is nothing; I've been through that for most of my life. Tackling a law degree is easy for a person that doesn't have any real friends. But to face something terrifying, facing up to my fears, maybe that's what I need to do. So I guess from now on I'm not going to let anyone bully me or scare me into a corner. Maybe I'll break through this hate I've built up towards the people who care about me. Maybe I'll learn to forgive the people who bullied me.
I hope this diary thing works out; I could really use the peace of mind.
~Rebecca Albright
