Alternatively titled:

Excerpts from Heather's Diary

May 20th, 2011

Okay. Let's dive into this before I lose nerve.

It's been 26 days. Four shy of a month.

Twenty six days ago, I came home from Total Drama World Tour on a train. A really nice train. It was dreamlike, not being on a death trap. I probably would've been, if Miss psycho-crazy hadn't blown the plane up in the bottom four. But, she did, so I was on a train by myself.

Or at least I ended up by myself. At first I was placed on the same train as Noah, because we were going the same direction.

We didn't sit by each other, which felt weird. We just sat in separate rows like complete strangers, which.. I guess we damn near were. It was so surreal. That game had been my entire world for years, and now it was over. I would probably see none of those people ever again. This wasn't like the end of season 2. I wouldn't hear from Gwen over the internet, or see Katie and Sadie in the tabloids.

No. It wasn't like the end of season 2 at all. This season hadn't ended on a widely broadcasted talk show with cheesy questionnaires and merchandise being sold off the edge of stage right. This season hadn't ended with a live audience holding up "I love Trent" and "Marry me Justin!" signs.

This season ended with calamity. Injury. Disaster. And certainly not any cheesy tabloid fame. We didn't have to fend off photographers getting onto the train.

The only thing I had to fend off was the panic squeezing my chest to a lifeless pulp.

We got our stuff back, which was also really weird. Noah was wearing different clothes, which made him look jarringly like a real person. His nose was shoved in a book, earphones jammed into his ears.

I was bundled up for winter even though it was perfectly warm outside, and even more stuffy on the train. I'd been breaking out in cold sweats since the finale. When the train started moving and the station we'd pulled from faded out of view, it really started to sink in that I'd never see any of those people ever again.

My last glimpse of anyone from that show would be Noah packing his book into his bag and switching trains, without so much as a passing glance towards me.

Was he not shaken up by the events of the finale?

I guess it makes sense that he wouldn't be. He didn't spend nearly as much time in the game as me, in any season. Was he even in season two? I couldn't remember. He never built any strong emotional connections to anyone in the cast. Not even secretly; One sidedly.

My stomach turned and I started to shake in my seat, knees held tightly to my chest. Rain fell steadily on the top of the train, hard like tiny little hammers beating at the back of my head. A headache was coming on; the dull sort of ache behind your eyes you get from crying too hard. But I hadn't cried. Not yet.

I started to think about all of the people I was going to miss, and how none of them would ever know that I missed them. I thought about every one-sided attachment I had, how many people I liked-even loved-that hated me, because I treated them like mud on the bottom of my shoes.

But that was the only way I knew how to treat people. The more affection I have for a person, the harder I shove them away. And I just.. expect them to understand that.

But of course no one did. That mentality didn't-doesn't-make any sense at all.

The only one who seemed to understand my roundabout way of affection was Alejandro. But even he had his limits of what he was willing to understand, and I… in his own words, always pushed too far.

Too far.

I didn't want him out of my life forever. I was so scared that he'd leave my life forever.

So I shoved him away, literally. Just to leave him before he could leave me. So it would hurt less.

In the end, I'm not really sure that worked out.

I tried to keep myself together for as long as possible. And I did. When the train rolled to it's first stop and Noah stood up to switch trains, I burst into tears knowing it was the last time I would ever see any of them in person again. I tried to be quiet and hide my shuddering, but he noticed. He was being ushered out of the train by the crowd of others trying to leave, but for a moment, our eyes met. And he looked surprised. Confused. Maybe even concerned.

My eyes were bright red and spilling over with tears when he looked at me. He said my name, with a lingering question mark at the end of it. Maybe he never even noticed I'd been in the next row over until then.

Our gaze was broken when he was pushed forward out of the train, and I never saw him again.

-ℋ

May 23rd, 2011

It has been 28 days. Two shy of a month.

My therapist is nerdy in a way that reminds me of Chris's interns. But as far as people I've actually spent time with, he's pretty much the opposite of any man that's ever been in my life. He's not very masculine, like my dad, or Alejandro. He's not exactly un-masculine either, though. He's not girly. Just… A bit of a dweeb.

He's serious and to-the-point in a way that intimidates me a little. He reminds me of Alejandro because he doesn't take my crap. He calls me out when I'm beating around the bush, and I'm not really comfortable with that.

I'm really fucking glad this whole journal idea was brought up, because now that I have it, he's content with me writing for the entire hour instead of talking. That makes me a lot less unnerved.

I clutched the book in my hands; about the same dimensions of a notebook, but much thicker. My parents had spared no expense (Do they ever?) and gotten me something really nice; Pink moleskine with a green ribbon sprouting from the binding.

"Something to show me?" he asked, before even saying hello. I nodded and sat it slowly down on the table. He flipped it open, handling it with much less care than I had. But his expression changed; he looked very impressed with me that I had written something sensical, and it was even longer than a sentence or two. I had exceeded his expectations.

I felt very reassured when he praised me, but I'm not sure why. I remembered then that at first my mom had wanted to send me to a female therapist, and I asked she reassign me-Female relationships have never been easy for me. I mean, all relationships have never been easy for me-but anyone I've ever been remotely close to before was a man. They seemed to relate to me easier. Maybe it's because men are known to show emotion less than women. That wasn't particularly true of Dr. Kenwar though. His emotions were usually on his sleeve, which I thought was weird for a therapist.

He skimmed the pages for a moment before closing the book and sliding it towards me, and I felt a hint of remorse for the material of the back of the book that was being skidded across the (probably) germy table.

"Did it help?"

I opened my mouth to respond to the question, but it was harder to answer than I thought. I pondered it for a second. Then, "Yeah. I think so."

"Write more then." he said, and the momentary interest in his eyes was gone. He seemed preoccupied, all the time.

I shrugged, picking the book up again and flipping it to a blank page. "Write about what?"

Then he gave me a prompt.

"My most emotional memory from World Tour."

That topic is a bit multifaceted. It could be taken a few different ways and probably over-analyzed too, but that's time wasting. (Wouldn't want to waste my precious time on Dr. Kenwars shitty 90's housewife chair cushions, right?) But I'm allowed to interpret it however I want, I guess, I mean, this is my writing and all. I feel like the correct answer to this question is "I'm so fucking pissed about the fact that I didn't get my money that every second of my existence is a swirling shitstorm of hell." But… That wasn't the first thing that came to my head when I heard the prompt. So that's not what I'll write about this time.

It was 28 days ago, two days shy of a month.

There were tears in the corners of my eyes, but the heat rising around me made my red eyes excusable.

I specifically remember the bitterness in Alejandro's voice when he said, "I truly hope you'll live to see me win."

He'd just screamed at me a minute ago, for a slip of the tongue. I replied "Wow, uh, testy much?" or something to that effect. Translation: What did I do wrong now?

I was beginning to come apart at the seams. I could feel it, and it was scary, because there were cameras, and other contestants. I was balanced poorly on a slab of rock, lava bubbling around my feet. I leaned forward and gripped onto the steel bars. Cody had just dropped a trap on me instead of Alejandro, letting him get the lead. He was already part way up the volcano ahead of me.

"Come on, Heather! Are you just going to let him win a million bucks?

Don't give up or the bad guy wins!"

I always sort of appreciated Cody. In fact, I liked him enough to leave him alone for three years. But right then, I could've hugged him-if I'd had the time.

But I didn't. I had a race to win.

I was the good guy. Me.

I could've broken down and cried over the sentiment-that someone, anyone, was insinuating that I wasn't perpetually the worst person in the room. In any room.

But I didn't stop to cry. I had a race to win.

I slammed into the cage to knock it onto its side, my legs being badly singed in the process. Remnants of those burns can still be found, but they didn't stop me then. I was out and running before I'd even realized I was hurt, oversized wooden dummy held clumsily in my hands. I charged forward with the sort of inspiration I had never felt before in my life…

Because I was the good guy. The underdog. The one people were rooting for. I had people rooting for me!

There were real, actual people who actually wanted to see me succeed.

I had a support team. Two people that wanted, even in a roundabout way, to see me be happy.

I didn't mind the roundabout way. Roundabout affection has been the only affection I've ever recieved; The only affection I've ever given.

I was thinking about my support team when I charged up the ledge.

Cody and Harold, but mostly Cody. I could hear the words repeating in my head again and again.

Don't give up or the bad guy wins.

He was the first person to ever tell me he believed in me, even if it wasn't in those words.

-ℋ

May 25th, 2011

As of today, it's been an entire month since I came home from Total Drama.

A month since Alejandro kissed me.

I keep glancing over the faded burns on my legs and wondering if his are this much better already. I hope they are, it would make me happy-or at least less guilty-to know he recovered fast. Maybe things really weren't that bad! Maybe he's home in Spain with his brother(s?) and Jose is picking on him for being bald, and hitting him in the arm and calling him Al. And it hurts worse now, to be hit there, because he's burned, but he just rolls his eyes and smiles a little bit because he knows that he's home now and never, ever has to see me again.

A month feels like way too short of a time period.

I feel like I left that show months and months and months ago now, it's so distant and untouchable.

At the same time, a month feels incredibly long. I feel like it ended yesterday. I can still hear Alejandro's voice like he's right beside me; I still shoot up in bed in the mornings with the thought, "Shit, I'm late for the challenge, aren't I!"

It's a Wednesday, so, no therapy today.

I'm writing today because I don't have anything better to do. Other than lay here wrapped in my blankets and watching reruns on TV, anyway, and I've done a lot of that lately. Probably too much.

They've been airing old season two episodes at like three in the morning. They make me laugh a lot but I'm also yet to get through one without feeling kind of like my heart is being ripped straight from my chest.

I was really transparent in season 2. Like, a lot more than I really remember being. I guess that's stupidly obvious-Of course at the time I thought I was being all tough and strong. It's just kind of blindsiding to see how wrong I was from an outsider point of view.

I thought the fact that I enjoyed the majority of my fellow contestants and wanted love and validation was so much… better concealed. But it wasn't. Especially in that Aftermath episode I'm too lazy to look up the name of. The one right after I was eliminated.

As of that episode, if not even sooner, it had to have been so glaringly obvious that I was nothing but a vulnerable little child hiding behind a cardboard cut out. None of them budged.

I don't even know how to put that feeling into words.

That they all knew they could break through to me if they wanted to, but they just didn't care enough to want to.

Nobody was actually willing to put any work in towards understanding me.

Nobody that season, at least.

...

I fucking hate Alejandro. I hope he's dead along with every vulnerable memory he has of me.

-ℋ

May 26th, 2011

I want to go back I want to go back I want to go back I want to go back I want to go back I want to go back I want to go…

-ℋ