Ok, hi. I can't seem to get off the angsty track, sorry. But I decided, what the heck, mine as wll. Anyways, this is in New Moon. What would happen if, instead of getting therapy from Jacob Black (because I despise him), Charlie had actually took Bella to a therapist, who had her write her thoughts in short journal entries.

I appoligize if it's compeltely horrid, and I'm sure it'll be OOC, but oh well. I tried.

P.S. I am also sorry for any grammar/ spelling mistakes. I type too fast.

P.S.S. I know I haven't updated MoonStruck in a long time, but I think I'm going to delete it. I sucks really badly anyways.

Disclaimer: If I was actually Stephanie Meyer, I wouldn't be spending all my free time on fanfiction, sorry. I wish I was her though, because then I could own Edward.

January 3rd

They told me to write in here, a normal everyday journal. It has a lock and a key that I hid away, so know one will know my thoughts, as it should be. Forever.

Charlie – my father – sent me to a therapist. Finally, after those dredging months of monotony and numbness, he actually followed up with his threats.

I don't really care though; I don't have enough in me to care.

My therapist's name is Dr. Smiley, stupid right? It's not his real last name. At least I hope not – not that I can really hope.

He told me that I could write in these pages my thoughts, dreams, hopes, goals, wonders. Anything. He said he wouldn't read it - no one would - it was for my eyes only.

Not that they'd understand my pain. It's so painful that I can't even feel it anymore. It's become a part of me, seeping into my pores, my flesh, and my veins. Coursing to my heart, so freezing cold, like ice.

They couldn't understand, they all just thought I was over-reacting, that it was a stupid teenage romance based on lust instead of love. I feel like screaming 'You don't understand me! You never will!' but that would prove nothing, only that I'm being melodramatic, like all other teens.

There are no stars in the sky tonight, it's dark. The clouds are suppressing everything, the heat, the light, and any other forms of life out there. Suppressing me and my emotions, holding them inside me tightly. It feels so claustrophobic, even more so now than ever.

Sometimes I don't even know who I am anymore. There was old Bella, one who knew nothing about the creatures of myth, one who lived a boring life. Then his Bella, fearless and brave, hopelessly and recklessly in love. Now what Bella am I, am I even Bella anymore?

This is pointless, I'm just wondering around in circles, orbiting around nothing. This journal is pointless, everything is pointless.

They're trying to piece me together like a puzzle, thinking all my edges will line up evenly and connect, become whole again. But what if my pieces were broken, shredded, incinerated?

How can you put a puzzle together with the center missing, and the outside rim is torn, the parts are ripped into unrecognizable bits?

How many times do you have to shove them together until they all turn to dust?

Yes, the chapters are short. Again, sorry. But they're SHORT journal entries that I write when I have time and/ or are bored/ have nothing better to do.

- Mickey.. :D