A dangerous friendship - part 1
WOULD LIKE FEEDBACK!
I want to ask you for honest feedback. Feel free to be critical with asking questions, giving responses and therefore also feedback. In the end, I hope to really publish this story as a book. However, I am still far from that point, since some pieces of text are still missing, some suddenly need to be written out even further and some language errors still need to be corrected. So I am thankful to all those who are critical and can help me to further perfect my story in this way.
Part 1 — Sweet Diary
I don't know how to start. So far, I can't get a meaningful word on paper, like all my thoughts are blocking. Of course, there are some words on paper in the meantime, but not the words I would like. I need to fix this but how? At the moment I'm in the hospital, but I'm not really sure why. According to the doctor who treats me, I had an accident and suffered a severe concussion. I just don't remember much about this. I assume that if you've had an accident, remember this, right? When I look at my body and see the many scrapes and bruises on my body, the doctor will undoubtedly tell the truth. I'm trying to clear my head and remember how I ended up here, but I can't even do that. According to the doctor, there was something about a dangerous friendship that I would have talked about in my sleep. It will all be, although I can hardly imagine that. I do know it's been summer vacation. Surely I would spend it better? This is due to spending time with my best friends? To my knowledge, I also spent time with them, I had made plans to do all kinds of fun things with them. And yet I also seem to vaguely remember something about a friend I hung out with during the summer holidays. But he, dangerous? So now I've agreed with the doctor to keep a diary. Writing is something I've always loved to do, a great idea so a diary. Maybe it helps me get my memory back, even if it's just loose pieces. I need to know what happened. How did I end up in this situation? I have my diary in front of me and my pen in my hand, staring aimlessly in front of me. I can't get the words on paper, I think the blockade is bigger than expected. If I want to know what happened, I have to come up with a solution and it's there, my creativity. This may be my salvation. Why should I only write out pieces when I can write from a different perspective? Perhaps this way can help me turn on my memory. So I decide to write my story from the margins, as if someone else is writing my story. Tomorrow I'll start my story. Another day to hopefully find out what happened now that ended up in the hospital. Because a dangerous friendship? No, I can't imagine starting something like that.
(That's the memory that this brings to me.)