Anonymous Diary Novels & Stories

Write a story that’s been crawling for four years and still has no ending. Annoy Mom or Paris, which always ends with me getting yelled at. Great. Real healing behavior. I walked to my notebook shelf and pulled out one of my old journals—the one I got on my 16th birthday. I flipped to the first page. Saw my handwriting. Saw his name. Closed it like it was on fire. “YUCK!” I shouted, shaking the notebook like it had germs. Why did I even write stuff like that? That was so gross.

Obviously it is difficult for me to concentrate on the movies shown on tv while my mind is occupied thinking of other things. Now what!? Will they accept me as one of them!? I scoffed at the thought of that possibility. My thought goes back to the article content. Isn't it weird how perfectly the article is written. It also writes about dad. About our little family. I opened the tablet back and read it again. Anonymous Journalism!? I checked all the articles that had been published by that media platform but found none of the articles that have been written by this media platform have use anonymous journalism except for this one.

My subconscious told me my secrets were already out in the open and everyone I walked past was staring at me, even when they weren't. I'd received a total of three notes from an anonymous sender claiming to be with my diary. During lunch I sat alone by a corner, perhaps if I blended well enough, no one would care enough to potentially ruin my life. I heard the clink of hells on the marbled floor and then the voice I'd already learnt to dread in just the few days I'd been in Crimson Claw. “Hello, Anaya. I hope you're doing well today?” Her voice made me want to throw up. I felt like I'd get diabetes just from listening too long.

I know that one day, I'll find what I've lost, and I'll transfer everything I write here to it. I feel a bit embarrassed, for some reason, as I describe our kiss. I smile foolishly, looking around to make sure I'm not being observed. I've been keeping diaries since I was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder six years ago. In fact, it was one of my doctor's recommendations. Since I'm a visual person, I wanted something unique and personalized, so I started making my own diaries, from the cover to the pages, the design, and the printing.

She turned the page and read the introduction, scrawled in looping letters: “I’m twenty, and I don’t know anything about sex. I just got my first boyfriend, and I want to be ready before I lose my innocence. But I’m too shy to ask anyone. So I’ve been listening to a podcast where women talk about their intimate experiences. These are their stories, written down in my own words, so I’ll never forget them.” Chloe’s lips parted slowly. So it wasn’t just a diary. It was like a treasure chest of confessions, each one borrowed from real women who had once bared their souls on a podcast. The anonymous writer had captured them, page by page.

Some fear it. And some — like Ravi — deny it. I started keeping a diary. Not for the usual entries about daily chores or college notes. But for feelings. Sometimes I wrote about the way my body felt after those secret moments at night. Sometimes I wrote letters — unsent — to Ravi, begging him to see me, to want me. Sometimes I wrote fantasies — ones I didn’t even know I had. Each word bled emotion. Each page carried the weight of years of suppression.

MADDIE May 16th 2018 I walk through the entrance doors to the club, the familiar feeling of belonging stains my soul and hardens my heart. I gave my everything to this place only to be tossed out like a sack of garbage! I have never felt so humiliated in my life and it takes a lot to embarrass someone like me with no morals embedded into my DNA. I groan as I move down the corridor towards Chad's office, pulling out the pocket knife I had concealed between my breasts, flipping out the blade and I masterfully stab it into the wall, dragging it as I continue to make my way to my destination.

All of a sudden, Connie recalled those times when Adrian taught her to write. Every moment was still fresh in her mind as if it had just happened yesterday and all of this was a dream, and that Adrian would be back by her side once she woke up. Her diary was as simple as she was. There were only one or two rows of words written each day to concisely record her feelings. 'Adrian, where are you? You're going to be a dad soon!' 'Adrian, I've missed you…' 'Adrian.' Reading the diary, Connie couldn't help tearing up as she flipped through the notebook. Suddenly, she looked solemn upon reading one of the other files.

Dear myself , I feel like writing dear diary is too embarrassing to say so I'm going to write to myself . It's true . Only my eyes are allowed to read these words on this page and it feels great so far . I see why Ace does this now and yes he is my inspiration for starting one of these . I think I need somewhere that I can talk about anything . I can talk about anything to Ace and I know that but I can't talk about Ace to Ace. He just wouldn't understand and he'd be over dramatic because that's one of his traits whether he agrees or not .

When he got there it was almost late, he was the last to get in the car. He sat down beside a girl but paid little to no attention to her. He opened up his diary and started writing. "Is that a diary? I have one too." A soft girly voice asked it was the girl beside him. He looked up and she was in the same uniform as he was. She was so beautiful he couldn't make himself answer her question. He just kept staring with his mouth half-open. "Is something wrong with my uniform? I just got it. It's my first day, you see?" She said with a smile.