Dear Dad,
This is... Stupid. I don't even know why I'm bothering to write this. My school therapist said that it would be good for me to let my feelings out like this... To write in a journal. She said she didn't even have to read it if I didn't want her to. If that's the case, how does she even know that I wrote it? Here I am though, writing this stupid thing.
She told me that sometimes it helps when you make your journal like a friend. Give it a name or something. She even suggested acting like it was you or Mom. So, I chose you. I don't know why. It seemed like a good idea.
I guess you probably aren't too happy to hear I'm seeing a therapist. It's not my choice, though I should have known my last mishap would be the last straw. They were just waiting for me to do something a little worse, and I did. I don't see it as bad though. I was protecting a freshman. I think you would agree I didn't do anything wrong. That jerk deserved it.
The school board didn't see it that way. So, to therapy I went. The therapist just asks me these questions like 'how does that make you feel' and lame stuff like that. I talk to her, about this and that... I even talked about Mom.
She tries to get me to talk about you, but I don't ever say too much. Maybe that's why she wants me to write this. I guess writing that kind of stuff is easier than saying it out loud, but still... I don't see what good it'll do.
So... It's been eight years since you... Disappeared. I don't know how else to put it. I don't know you if you left or... Somebody took you away. Alan keeps telling me you would have never left me. I want to believe that but... Who knows, right? You might have just wanted to run away somewhere, get away from it all. If you did, that's a hell of a way to treat your son.
I don't want to believe you did, but the other option isn't any better. What if you were kidnapped by people who hated what you were accomplishing, or going to accomplish? Or worse, you could have been killed and they hid your body really well... Ugh, I've been playing too many crime games. Whatever happened, I just hope that you're alive. I like to hope that I'll see you again sometime.
Oh, Gram is calling me for dinner. She made roast beef with mashed potatoes, corn, and peas and carrots. I offered to help but she said for me to go and get my homework done. Not sure if this counts as homework but I don't really care. Anyway, I guess I'll talk to you later... Bye.
Love, Sam