Little Black Notebook

If you are reading this you have made a big mistake. This black notebook is a JOURNAL, and it belongs to Alexandra Stronge.

Kindly return this book to the owner.

I am only journalling now because my therapist suggested I do so. I hate writing and don't think I am very good at it. Regardless, I was advised that journalling is supposed to be emotive, and cathartic, and all that good stuff.

Where to begin... Well, I just found out I am inheriting twenty thousand dollars. From who? My sugar daddy that no one knows about.

Let's take a step back though and explain this odd predicament.

A few months ago, I was at the end of my ropes. I had exhausted all the energy I had left in me just trying to find ways to pass the time. Life felt meaningless. Nothing brought joy to my brain anymore, not even the cannabis that I was so readily consuming, for weeks leading up to this breaking point.

So, months ago, I was spiralling. I had tied so many knots into the fabric of my time space bubble that I did not even know which way was left or right anymore. I felt broken, but somehow unaware of the mess that my life had become. Time didn't seem to exist; I went so many days without sleep that I actually lost count. I truly cannot remember how many days in a row I wore the same outfit, or how many times I bothered to step into the shower at all. I don't even know when the spiralling started or how long it was going on for before I snapped. But, oh boy, did I snap.

One day I hopped online in search of a sugar daddy. Yes, I was only eighteen, and yes, it was a bit desperate. However, I needed some excitement in my life. I was unemployed, living on government provided financial assistance, and addicted to marijuana and nicotine. Happens to the best of us.

After hours of sifting through ads, I finally found one that peaked my interest. The man was younger than most others posting ads, and he wasn't asking for much in return for his money. I thought it was odd, but seemed easy enough. All he asked for was conversation.

So I hit him up. Talked for a bit. He mostly wanted to ask questions about my life.. Which now thinking about it is a big red flag and he could have very easily been a murderer on the prowl. Anyway, after talking for a few hours, he sent me a small sum of cash. He only asked that I tell him what the money was for. I lied and said I needed some groceries. Well, that wasn't a lie, I did need groceries. I couldn't even remember the last time I had eaten a full meal. But the lie was that the money would be spent on my weekly carton of cigarettes and not on anything more productive.

The conversations and monetary gifts continued for a while; actually, up until a few days ago. The beginning of our journey together was the most intense though. I opened up to this man; more than I had ever opened up to anyone in my life. I confessed to the drug and nicotine use, he assured me it was okay. I confessed to avoiding showering and sleeping, he assured me that too was okay. I told him where all the money he gave me was really going and he also said that was okay, but thanked me for my honesty.

This man. All he wanted was honesty. He really just wanted to hear my story and tell me everything was going to be just fine. He had advice on how to untie the knots I'd created, music suggestions to get me out of bed, and knew of brands of soap and perfume that would make me want to take a shower. He convinced me I was worth more than what I appeared to be. He showed me how beautiful life truly was.

After four months of this man helping me through the darkest time of my life, he died suddenly.

He died of cancer. Turns out he was sick all along, had extra money but too young to have a family to leave the money for. He didn't know what to do and decided that being a sugar daddy was the best option. After weeks of searching for the perfect woman to leave his money for, he realized: the perfect woman to leave his money for, is someone in need and not someone greedy.

After that realization, I was the first person to contact him. He knew I was broken and lonely. He knew I was at the end of my rope. most importantly he knew that I deserved this money more than anyone else he had attempted to connect with.

(he wrote all this in a letter to me. I will not be putting it in the journal, incase someone reads this. I have a feeling my therapist will ask me to "share what I've written" even though they said they would not be reading this.)

This man spent four months of his life, chatting with me for hours every day. It turns out it was all in attempt to make me feel special so that I would learn to take care of myself.

Now I have twenty thousand dollars that I need to explain how I got, but the story is so unbelievable that I don't know what to say to anyone.