Dear journal… that’s how you start these things, right? I’ve never kept a journal, so I’m weirdly anxious about this. 

It seems simple enough, but I can’t figure out how to start. You just talk about things that are going on, right? 

Um…

I don’t know what to talk about… I guess I can start with why I’m doing this in the first place…

Well, it was suggested that I start a journal of some sort. Supposedly, this helps with sorting out… stuff. 

All I have is my phone, so this app will have to do. It’s talk to text, so if it comes out all wonky, that’s why. I’ll edit the best I can, but, oh well… At least I’m trying.

Anyways… As I said, someone suggested that I start a journal, and for some reason I felt almost obligated to give it a shot—I mean, not in a bad way; she didn’t tell me to do it. It was more like advice, I guess. I don’t know… The whole experience happened quickly.

It all started when this lady walked into the women’s shelter with bags of food. This happens sometimes with big companies or folks with money—you know, tax write-off or whatever—but usually, they just send the food over and that’s it.

Not this time, though. This time, this lady decided to stay and have a chat with everyone.

At first, I didn’t pay much attention to her as she made her rounds talking—well, mostly listened. If I know anything about these women, it’s that they love to talk. There’s no way she got a word in, I’m sure. So, yeah, I’d say she mostly listened.

I honestly didn’t think she’d have an opportunity to get to me. But, I was wrong, and for some reason she sat down right across from me.

All that listening, I figured she’d be too tired… but, no… and at this point, it was too late to get out of there. All I could do was smile and thank her for the food… I didn’t know what else to say. 

Well, kindly, she smiled and asked my name and how old I was—innocent, non complicated, questions—so I answered.

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Next thing I know, I’m telling this poor woman my whole life story! 

I told her about losing mom and dad young, and then Grandma to Covid; about people taking the house, and then going into the system. I even kept going about dropping out of school, and how I’ve been couch surfing and living in the women’s shelter since I turned 17. 

Now, I must have stuffed so much useless knowledge into that lady’s head. I don’t know what came over me! I’m not normally like that. 

Well, I’m usually good at avoiding conversations for one thing. But, I don’t know, something about her made it to where once I started talking, I couldn’t stop… and sadly, she just sat there, listening to everything I said. 

I’m honestly kind of embarrassed. It’s probably why I felt like I should journal, or something… to make up for making her suffer… It’s probably why she suggested it in the first place.

Eventually, I did realize how rude I was being, and I tried to cut it off, but then she asked what my plans were for the future, and I started again! 

It’s not like I don’t get asked that question daily—I mean, it’s usually in a judgy tone—but she didn’t do that. 

No, her tone had to be magic or something, because I couldn’t help myself. I just continued rambling, but this time about being between jobs because I got fired when my car broke down.

Recently, it's been a string of bad luck, and I’m aware that my life sounds like a sad, southern, stereotype… It is what it is, but hearing myself say it out loud to her, well, I felt like I was trying to make her feel sorry for me.

I really didn’t want that, so I made sure she knew that I still consider myself lucky. 

Yeah, my family’s gone, but at some point it became easier to move forward. My placement wasn’t horrible either—I’ve heard stories from other foster kids—at least mine only acted like I didn’t exist, so it could have been worse… a lot worse. 

I just told her I like to spend my time at the library when I’m not here, which is true. I’m working on my GED, and hopefully I’ll get into college some day.

But then, she asked what I wanted to go to college for—I shoulda kept the answer simple, like, teacher or nurse—But, to be honest, I don’t know what I want to do. I’m just taking things one day at a time, and for some reason, I felt like I didn’t need to lie to her… So, that’s what I told her… She smiled and agreed, one day at a time.

She sat with me for a while, but had to leave when she almost passed out from exhaustion—Now that was scary. She reached out to shake my hand and about collapsed on the table. 

She said it was low blood sugar, and that she’d be fine, but I don’t know. I hope we… or, I… didn’t cause her to stay longer than she should. 

She was really nice and I strangely felt a lot… lighter after talking to her. 

I know I probably talked her ear off, but I hope I get to see her again… at least to tell her I’m sorry for that. It probably won’t happen though—Shoot, I didn’t even get her name.