It has been a long, long trail for me. I feel as if I'm in the darkest days of my life, which is probably why I've started this diary on this day, December 21, which is indeed the darkest day of the year. At least, it's the darkest day of the year here in North America. Frankly, I really don't care that it's actually the lightest day of the year in some other hemisphere because, as Dr. Morell explained, "That's not your problem." I like Dr. Morell. It's only he -- and you, dear diary -- who really understand me.
It was Dr. Morell who suggested that I start writing my way out of this deep, deep depression. It's so fitting that I begin writing on this, the darkest day of the year, as it's a hopeful metaphor for the days ahead, getting lighter every day, filling me with optimism and shedding more light on that bitch Melania so that people can see just how much Botox she's really had.
There are so many issues to confide in you, dear diary, but very little time. I will try to remain faithful, and keep my entries short but regular. Speaking of Bill, he's been no help whatsoever. However, with the help of Dr. Morell, Xanax, and you, dear diary, I have learned to accept him for the psychopathic attention whore he is.
Oops! Did I say that? Tee hee. I'm so bad. Even Dr. Morell says that.
I'm already feeling better, dear diary. More tomorrow, as I figure out how to solve this muslim thing.