Dear diary,

you just can't imagine what happened. It was a disaster! No matter how much I ready my pessimistic mind for the worse, I could not predict how bad things will be. I will tell you everything from the start.

The first day of school. Mom dressed me in a short black pleated skirt and simple shirt, hidden under an official silver jacket (the jacket was new for me...second hand, but I liked it). It was a little cold fall morning, but I was sweating from the way I was feeling. I was shy and uncomfortable. It was like everyone was looking at me. I hate too many people in one place. I just wanted to run away from this place. I was walking with her hand in hand like a little girl and my fingernails were dwelling in the palm of my free hand, forming a tight fist.

Mom was cheerful and patriotic, also dressed stylishly in black shoes with heels, a short black skirt, and a colorful long-sleeved blouse. Her black dyed hair was always down, reaching her waist. She was very beautiful, always with a lot of well-placed makeup and people often thought that we are sisters. The perks of having your child at the age of 17.

Anyway, we were at the school stadium and teachers were gathering the classes they are responsible for. Every teacher was standing upfront and the whole group was behind her or him. I just had to find who miss Nicholaeva is and stand with my class behind her.

I was so shy and feeling not at my place...like always. I just wanted to know where must I stay and stop walking around, gathering the eyes of bored students. The wind was blowing, and I constantly had to hold my skirt from lifting, Marilyn Monroe style. There were so many people here. Their talking was like a beehive, often interrupted by someone laughing or screaming. In front of all teachers was empty space and next was a small stage. I recognized the music teacher there (after all, I wasn't here for the first time) and a few others, fixing the microphones and stuff like that so the director of the school can give her speech and some small kids can sing and dance.

Mom asked a few of the grown-up students to give us directions to where my teacher must be or who is she. Some pointed out that she is nowhere in sight, others said that we must walk further because groups were arranged by class numbers. So we walked more and finally one of the teachers, passing near us pointed to miss Nicholaeva. Mom went to her, introduced me as the new girl of her class and I got behind the whole group, hiding from curious faces. She was close to me until the celebration was over. Then said that she will wait for me somewhere outside because our group was going inside the school for a class picture.

We separated, and I started walking alone, talking with no one...no one knew me. For sure, I have seen some of those students when I was here in previous years, but I do not remember them. I have seen so many kids by now, and I guess none will remember me too. It was so strange. I was unsure even in my legs, feeling like they will give up, and I will trip and make a full of myself. Finally, we were inside our classroom and as it turned out - my teacher was teaching painting. The place was light, and its walls were covered with many paintings from students. I must say that I felt Miss Nicholaeva as someone close to me, because I just love to paint (like my father did when he was younger), and she was looking more like a teenager, not an adult. She had long blond hair, perfect light makeup, red lipstick, and a confident smile. Her thin figure was covered by a cute flower dress, following her curves perfectly. She was acting like we are her friends and was not so official. Anyway, the desks were making it hard for us to fit in one place for a picture, so we went into the hall and gathered together near the stairs.

I just went somewhere at the end of the line we were forming. I hate to put myself in front, for everyone to see if I fall or have something on my hair...or just to give them a topic for gossiping. I prefer to be invisible, not looking at anyone and if I am being honest, avoiding their faces, afraid that I might catch them staring at a new girl with poor clothes.

Soon the photographer did his job and with some more school talk from the teacher leading this class we were released to go. When I went to find my mother the most embarrassing thing occurred. While I was away - she was drinking her coffee with the director of the school. It turns out that a big mistake had happened, and I went to the wrong class! Can you imagine how I felt?! The name of my actual class-leading teacher was Nicholova. She was teaching history, not painting. "Nicholova, not Nicholaeva!" mom said and my heart sinks. I wanted to leave this town now. I moved so many times for my parents... I wanted to do it for me this time. How could I return to school tomorrow and just go to the other class as nothing happened? I even made a picture with these people...to make my mistake memorable... I hate my life! I just hate it!

I felt so helpless and there were no words to express what I was thinking, so I just closed my diary. Why do such things keep happening to me? Am I not sad enough? Have I not suffered enough? Always the same question pops up in my head - How much more can I handle?

I kept asking myself this for the next four years, but some good things also happened. I went to that new class and found two shy girls there. We started walking together in school, but never outside it. Just close classmates. Soon I made another friend, and she became my best friend ever. Her name is Sarah. She somehow saw the real me behind the shy and the clumsy. She even appreciated me for who I was and never made fun of what I wear or how I live and especially how I think. We were playing on a street near mine and were together in school, often with the two girls I liked - their names are Savannah and Kate.

A group of kids was formed on that street, and it became my favorite place because everyone there loved my company. They were calling me to get out and play with them, looking for me for protection from other kids on the streets (because see... I liked to fight, like really punching someone for the rights of people) and were spending a massive amount of time with me. I had to drag my little brother with me everywhere, but it was okay... mostly. The name of the street is Kamchia. It's closed on one side, so we were happy that there were no cars invading our games.

When I was at the age of 14, a tall boy from our group, 2 years older than me, fixed his hazel eyes on me. I could not believe that I liked him, and he actually liked me back. His name is Ronald. He didn't offer me to be his girlfriend. We kind of talked about it, and he said that he was going to ask me out, instead of being just in the same group... and I told him that there is no need to ask me because he surely knows that I will say yes. Stupid me! Anyway, we were together for 2 months and the first we mostly made out on a bench somewhere, no talking. The second month we barely saw each other. He was missing all the time, going to his village for days and never telling me when he will be back. So I was the one to leave him.

Soon he moved to another place in town and I met a boy, working with my father. He had such blue eyes... I liked him instantly. The strange thing here was that I had a crush on him before I even met him. My father was talking and talking about him and a month later Mateo came to visit us. It was strange. He stayed a few nights, but I never got to know if he likes me back...it looked that way. He was a wrestler. Constantly looking after his weight and what he was eating. Cheerful and funny, I enjoyed his company, no matter that I wanted more than a friend.

Anyway, time was passing by, and I had only this street and the people there to make my life better. Of course, they did not know that I started cutting my wrists and scratching my skin with scissors when I got a bad grade or had a bad day. With my constantly climbing trees and playing games with running and jumping, it was easier to ignore some scratches (no matter how deep). I was living for my dreams, because there, while I was sleeping, I was free from reality. My family started to make paper bags at home for money. Often I had to try to stay awake at night to help them do more because they had deadlines and no other people to work.

Creeper 1 was making our lives Hell and Creeper 2 went to work in another country. She was on the road to fix her past mistakes towards my family and started to send money to help us. I remember one time when she came back for vacation and bought me jeans and an official blouse... They were new...like from the store and I picked them. No one was wearing them before me... I SO loved them, and I have to admit that I was looking great in them.

Then one surprising thing happened. I was walking around my street with a girl I often played with. Then my first and only boyfriend came from somewhere with two friends. He was drunk and...desperate or obsessed... I don't know. Ronald grabbed my hands and started explaining to me how he missed me for this whole year when we were not together, and he wanted me back. He never understood why we broke up...and I don't understand how he doesn't get the reasons. I could not believe that this was happening to me! Someone liked that much to act this crazy! He wouldn't let me go. Anyway, I gave in, and we got back together only to separate again 2 weeks later for the same thing. He was missing, and I was fun only for some days, no plans together and no talking - only practice at kissing and grabbing.

Here my real story begins. I was 16 years old and the new school year was starting. I had no idea how it was connected to the picture from the wrong class.