November 18th, 2014.
Dear Diary,
My name is Anna Worsnop. I am seventeen years old, and I was diagnosed with Stage Three Leukemia on November 16th, 2014. My doctors suggested that I write in a diary so I don’t bottle up my feelings on this whole, situation, if you will. To be quite blunt, I’m terrified. Honestly, if you’re not scared of a scenario like this, there’s something wrong with you. The thought of dying a painful death terrifies me. I thought I was going to go peacefully, hopefully at an older age with my husband by my side; but hey, nothing goes right for me, does it?
I’m going to start from the beginning and hopefully write in this diary until I die, or I am incompetent to pick up a pen and write. Hopefully it never comes to either of those endings. This whole journey of survival started with me not feeling so hot one day. I woke up one morning to get ready for school. When I woke up, I felt absolutely awful. I was burning up. I yelled for my mom, and told her that I felt awful. She took my temperature, and looked shocked at the results.
“105? How can you be 105?” She murmured as quiet as possible. She took my temperature again to clarify. Sure enough, it was 105. I also felt really pained in my abdominal area, well, all over. When I finally got out of bed and got undressed, I found black and blue bruises all over my back and stomach. I was horrified at the sight. I didn’t do anything to bruise myself that I know of. I yelled for my mother again, and she examined the bruises, insisting that we go to the emergency room. I’m glad she did, honestly. If she left it and said it was nothing, I could be dead by now, or my condition could be way worse than what it already was. When the doctors finally got to me after two hours of waiting in a stinky, busy waiting room, they looked almost as shocked as my mom and I.
“We’re going to need to get a sample of your blood right away, sweetie,” the kind nurse lady murmured as I shook in panic. After they pricked my finger with the tiny needle, my mom and I waited until the doctors came back with the results. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I didn’t know what was wrong with me at the time. I prayed that it was nothing, just a little flu that was going around the school, but it was much, much more than that; the doctor came into the little room and shook his head sympathetically.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he started. He then proceeded to tell me that I had a high white blood cell count, and that I had stage three leukemia. My mom cried, hugging me as tight as she could. I just remained silent and still. I didn’t know how to feel during that time, I was a whole mess of emotions. I felt scared, and sad, but most of all just sick to my stomach. I just sat there in silence, while my mom sobbed loud enough for the whole hospital to hear. I begin treatment soon, and I’m not looking forward to it.

November 21st, 2014.
Dear Diary,
Today was my first day of treatment. I received a dose of the chemotherapy treatment, and that was a bore. I sit in a chair for six hours with a needle in my arm while the drugs do their magic. I’m not allowed to move around, otherwise the needle might detach and blood would spew everywhere. Everyone who also went for the chemotherapy treatment was either significantly older or dramatically younger than I, so I had no one to talk to throughout the entire six hours of my chemotherapy because my mom just dropped me off. She didn’t want to see me go through this. She’s been really sad ever since I got diagnosed. I think for me she should be strong, since I am the one going through this and I’m not even shedding any tears. I just wonder what she’s going to do if I ever pass away.

December 1st, 2014.
Dear Diary,
I landed in the hospital today. I’m going to be staying for about a week until they have me stabilized.
So, what happened was at first I just felt a little nauseous. I ran to the bathroom at school without even letting my teacher know. I stumbled into a stall, and I just stared into the empty toilet bowl. I eventually threw up, and I noticed that blood was also there. I began to freak out, because this has never happened to me before. I kept on getting sick for a good hour. I’m honestly surprised no one noticed that I was gone for that long. After I felt somewhat okay, I walked out of the stall and to the sinks. I looked at myself in the mirror above the sink. I looked absolutely atrocious. My skin became white with a hint of blue-ish grey. My eyes looked black. I had multiple purple bags and dark circles under my eyes. My eyelids sagged, and I looked absolutely exhausted. My freckles were now nonexistent, and my hair looked thinned and dull. I began crying when I looked at myself. This wasn’t me, and I didn’t want to be like this. I had no choice, though. I exited the bathroom and walked to my third hour class. My German teacher looked up at me and asked if I was alright. I nodded my head and trudged to my desk. Emma, my friend, looked at me and told me I needed to go to the school nurse. I shook my head and assured her that I was fine, just a little woozy. I then passed out, or at least that’s what my friend told me when she visited me at the hospital. An ambulance came and rushed me to the emergency room. They checked me into a room, and they’re now trying to figure out why I’m fainting.
Well, after about two hours of trying to figure out why I’m fainting, they came to the conclusion that my body is rejecting the medication that I received for my pain. The blood was normal, at least for a patient with leukemia. Still doesn’t make it okay. They’re going to be giving me a different type of pain medication, and cross their fingers that my body doesn’t reject that one. Anyways, more people visited me at the hospital. My parents came after they were done working. They both cried and hugged me really tight, despite the previous protests. They stayed until they got tired, and that was about eleven at night. It’s now one in the morning, and I’m unable to sleep. My friends Emma, Katie, and Lucy all came to visit me right after school. It’s funny, because they all look alike. They could be mistakened as triplets. They all have shoulder length brunette hair that has a wavy texture. They all wear the same natural looking makeup, and they are all the same height. The only difference between them is their weight and how they dress. Emma is a larger build and she dressed very dark, like me. Katie is very slim and all she wears is band tees and jeans. Lucy is the girlier of the two, being stick-thin and wears a bunch of pastels, like pinks and purples. While they were there, they actually made me forget about my condition for a while, because they know that I want to talk about this as little as possible. We joked about a bunch of things, talked about the drama at school, and talked about our crushes. Typical girl stuff. When my parents arrived, they all left because they had to do homework. It was much more depressing talking to my parents. We talked about my condition, and how I have to really “fight” for my life. They basically talked about stuff I already knew. My mom was bawling her eyes out like usual, and my dad just had a blank expression on his face; he was like a deer in the headlights. That kind of scared me, because when my dad had that expression on his face it normally meant that he was extremely depressed and/or angry. When they left, I was actually kind of relieved. I wanted quiet time, just to watch videos on my laptop that my mom brought for me. I also read my novel for school and drew a bit on the sketch pad that my mom also brought me. She wanted me to be as entertained as possible. Now I’m just writing in my diary, obviously. I hope everything clears up soon, so I can go home.

December 7th, 2014.
Dear Diary,
I finally was able to go home, after six extremely painful days in the hospital. No more IV’s, and no more crappy hospital food! I basically spent my days in bed or in a chair throughout my chemotherapy. Or on one of those platform things that you lay on during an x-ray. I’m so excited to sleep in my own comfy bed without having dozens of needles poking me. I’m also excited for my dad to take me to Taco Bell, like he promised. I’m just grateful to feel somewhat okay.

December 20th, 2014.
Dear Diary,
I apologize for not writing much. My life has been pretty boring. Radiation and/or chemotherapy almost every other day, and the days I’m not getting treatments, I waste my time by sitting on the couch and binge-watching Netflix series. Anyways, I decided to write to you specifically today; because I finally had my mental breakdown that was long overdue. You see, I’ve always had issues with self-image; I was bullied for a lot of components to my true appearance. For example, how I have freckles below my eyes, and how I have a big nose. My eyebrows were also a major target to bullies, but today, I had a major trademark of me taken away. My hair. My hair was always flawless. Not to brag or anything, but it was the perfect amount of wavy that doesn’t need any product to tame it. My hair color was also very unique. A rich golden brown, with blonde highlights that shimmered in the sunlight. Ever since I started chemotherapy, it began to fall out slowly. My mom decided to shave it all off, so I don’t have weird bald-patches on my head. I put up quite the fight;  wanted to keep my luscious locks as long as possible. Unfortunately, since I’m only 4’9” and my mom is 5’10”, I lost. She held me still in between her legs as the electric razor removed all the hair on my head. I looked at myself in the mirror, and I instantly burst out in tears. I felt so ugly. I didn’t want to go out in public, even with a scarf or wig on my head. I wanted my old hair back. I locked myself in my room the rest of the night, refusing to leave. I didn’t want anyone to see my ugly head, without my hair. I repeatedly looked in the mirror, picking out all the flaws I had, unknowingly putting myself down even more. My mom tried getting me to come out of my room for dinner, but I wasn’t hungry. How could I eat when all I felt was sadness and despair, due to my hair being gone?
After two hours of self-loathing, I finally gained the courage to look through my drawers for a scarf to wrap around my bald scalp. I searched until I found one with musical notes all over it. I chose this one, because it represented my love for music, specifically singing. I wrapped it around my head, and looked in the mirror. It felt like a giant weight was being lifted off my shoulders, and I had the feeling of relief soar through my body. I didn’t look half bad. I may look pale and sick, but I didn’t look awful. I finally came out of my room, and showed my mother what I had done to substitute my hair. She wrapped her arms around my waist and called me beautiful, and I felt somewhat beautiful for once in my life.

December 25th, 2014.
Dear Diary,
Today was Christmas. This Christmas was more depressing than anything, because all anyone would talk about was my cancer. All they did was ask me about how I was feeling, how I was coping, and how the therapy sessions were going for me. Most of all, they cried because they think this is going to be their last Christmas with me in the picture. My Aunt Carol was extremely emotional. She carried a box of tissues with her wherever she went, and whenever she saw me she burst into tears hugging me tightly. I didn’t know how to react, so I just patted her back lightly and said, “There, there”. It got super annoying after awhile, and I just walked outside and took a walk to get away from the chaos I call my family. After about an hour I returned, but everyone in the house got even more emotional. They all hugged me, sobbing and weeping because they thought I ran away to die. I had enough at that point and shoved everyone off of me.
“You know, if you spent more time with me in the past, you wouldn’t be weeping like little b****es. You should have made it clear that I was important to you guys and not just a burden. That’s how I felt every single Christmas before this one, I felt unimportant and that no one wanted me here besides my own parents. You know what? Screw all of you. I’m outta here.” I flipped everyone off with my two middle fingers and stomped out of the front door, grabbing my dad’s car keys on the way out. I drove home with my dad’s car, and as soon as my parents got dropped off by my Aunt Susan, I got hollered at for a good hour and a half. Needless to say I’m spending my winter break in the house because I’m grounded. It was so worth it to finally be able to b**** my sad excuse of a family out, though.

December 31st, 2014.
Dear Diary,
Today was my family’s annual New Year’s Day party, and that was a “blast”. Quotation marks around “Blast” because I’m normally stuck babysitting little bratty kids. This year was different. I was stuck in my room, due to the little incident on Christmas Day. I thought that was more of a reward than a punishment because I’d rather be stuck in my room than having to babysitting five bratty kids and toddlers. Basically all I did was watch Breaking Bad on my laptop. That’s all I did all break because I wasn’t allowed to go out of the house. The only exception was for a checkup or any sort of therapy session. I wasn’t allowed out of my room either. Only if I needed food or to use the bathroom. I’m not complaining, though. That’s what I did before I got grounded. My parents are still salty about the situation. They won’t stop talking about it at the dinner table.
“Why would you do such a thing, Anna? What was going through your mind at the time?” Mom grouched.
“Are you stupid, or is it the medication that’s making you do these things?” Dad lectured
“Are you on recreational drugs, is that it? Look at me, I want to see if your pupils are dilated.” Mom interrogated.
They overreact to the point where they think every action that I do is a result of drugs. They always think I’m on some recreational drug, whether it be marijuana or methamphetamine. It’s so ridiculous. Where do they think I would be able to get the drugs or the money? I’m broke, and  I never leave the house. They probably think some meth fairy comes to my room at night and leaves a little baggie of meth underneath my pillow as I sleep. I would never do drugs. I don’t need something else trying to destroy my body while I’m battling cancer. Whenever they ask me these questions, I get up and leave. I don’t need them interrogating me while I’m trying to eat in peace. I then get another day added to my grounding. Keeping me cooped up in the house is only going to make matters worse. Why have me basically jailed in my room when I’m dying? I’m supposed to be spending my last moments with my friends and family. Oh well, I guess I’ll spend my last days of life listening to music and watching Grey’s Anatomy.

January 5th, 2015.
Dear Diary,
Well, today was different. Everyone treated me with respect at school. Normally I get a whole bunch of s*** from the popular crowd, calling me “big nose,” or “four eyes”. I got none of that today. They actually treated me like I was a part of their little posse. I don’t want to be a part of their posse, though. I’d rather be hanging out with my friends who are down to earth and actually kind to others around them and not just the people in their group. They kept checking up on me whenever one of them were in any of my classes.
“How are you doing, Anna?” Alexis asked sweetly, patting me on the back. I ran to the bathroom and laughed my ass off. She is honestly the fakest person I know. She probably dissed me behind my back as soon as I went to the bathroom.
“Hey Anna, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the winter ball with me? I’ve always thought you were so beautiful, but I never had the guts to say anything to you,” Jake pleaded with me. I shook my head and ran to the bathroom again and laughed harder than the last time. Every girl practically swooned over him, and I thought chicken wings were more attractive than him. Obviously I rejected him.
“Anna, I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you over the past three years. To be honest, I was jealous of you. I always thought you were absolutely perfect and flawless,” Jennifer apologized to me, but I knew it was fake. She hated me ever since the seventh grade when I got a better time on the mile run than her. I always got better scores than her on tests, also. I always aced the tests with flying colors while she always got a B. Not my fault she doesn’t study. Anyways, I didn’t give anyone the time of day when it came to apologies. They’re only apologizing because they know that I’m slowly but surely dying, and they don’t want to feel guilty when I’m gone. Also, my friends did something that was I see as the sweetest thing in the world. They all knew that I was upset about losing my hair, so they all shaved their heads so I wouldn’t feel like an outcast. I only see them at lunch, so when I finally saw them I cried. I am beyond grateful to have friends as amazing as them. They are so genuine, and I have no idea how I got so lucky.

February 12th, 2015.
Dear Diary,
I apologize again for not writing as much anymore, my life has become more and more boring. All my days consist of is therapy and school. No one really wants to hang out with me, not even my own family. I’ve been projectile vomiting blood for the past three days, and I’ve been in more pain than before. The pain is almost unbearable, so I stopped going to school and I began online schooling. The doctors claim it’s all a part of the therapy, and I’m actually getting better. The cancer cells are beginning to go down in numbers, and the tumors I had a few months ago are shrinking. They even think that I might go into remission, but that doesn’t mean I’m not fully out of the woods yet. I hope it all works out in the end, I don’t want to die before my actual time.
Also, something actually exciting happened to me a few weeks ago. On January 19th, 2015, I was finally able to see my favorite band, Twenty One Pilots, thanks to the Make-A-Wish foundation. Twenty One Pilots is my absolute favorite musical group, and I’ve always wanted to see them live but I either didn’t have the money or the transportation to get there. I asked for Twenty One Pilots tickets for Christmas but I never got them, so I was finally able to go see them. I was also able to bring a friend, so I brought my best friend in the entire world who loves Twenty One Pilots almost as much as me. We also got VIP backstage passes, and we got to meet Tyler and Josh! The concert itself was incredible, but meeting my idols was even more amazing. While they were actually performing, they played all of my favorite songs. Stressed Out, Ode to Sleep, Guns for Hands, Migraine, Lane Boy, Screen, and they played my favorite song for their final song, which is Trees. Let’s just say I cried throughout the entire concert, and I bawled my eyes out when I got to meet Tyler and Josh. They were so sweet. They gave me a signed poster and a signed shirt. Also, they both hugged me and kissed my cheeks. They did the same to my friend Lucy. It was the best night of my life, and I will never forget it.

March 1st, 2015.
Dear Diary,
Today was my birthday. It was like any other ordinary day for the most part. The only thing that we did that was different is that my family took me to HuHot for lunch, and we went shopping at the mall. I also had a doctor’s appointment in the morning. I actually got some very good news, though! I went into remission. They didn’t see any sign of the cancer in my body. I have one more chemotherapy treatment, and I’ll be done for awhile. I still have to get regular checkups, and there’s always a chance of the cancer coming back; but I’m just relieved to have it gone for now. I won’t have to go through all the pain in my abdomen. I won’t be throwing up blood anymore, and I won’t be constantly skipping out of school because I’m sick. No more medications, no more pale skin and a bald head. I’ll actually look like I’m alive once again. This was the best day that I have had in such a long time.

May 21st, 2015.
Dear Diary,
I just wanted to check in, and talk about how my life has been ever since I had gone into remission. My hair started slowly growing back, for starters. I look like a boy, but it’s better than having no hair at all. I also have my glowing tan complexion again. I don’t look dead anymore, and I actually get complimented with how I look. I go shopping with my friends at the mall sometimes, and I have random strangers come up to me and tell me how I’m so beautiful, and how my skin is perfect. It makes my day to know that someone else is happy with how I look. Not to mention, I’m starting to get a lot of meat put on my bones. When I was going through the treatments, all I did was throw up. That caused me to lose a significant amount of weight, and I constantly got asked if I was anorexic, or if I was hungry. I wasn’t hungry, and I wasn’t anorexic either. I just threw up a lot. When I was going through the treatments, none of my clothes fit me. They all were way too baggy since all I was was skin and bones. Now that I gained some of my weight back, I fit into my clothes once again. Last but not least, I feel healthy. I don’t feel constantly nauseous or exhausted. I have the energy to do things with my friends For example, last week we went hiking. The other day we went cliff jumping. I’ve honestly been having so much fun these past few months. This totally makes up for the six months of hell I had to endure. I just hope I keep getting better and better, and the cancer won’t ever return.

August 15th, 2015.
Dear Diary,
Over the past few months, I felt superior. I felt like nothing could tear me down. I was happier, stronger, and healthier than ever. I explored and discovered a whole bunch of things. I traveled around the country with my friends in a s***ty van. It didn’t matter if the van was s***ty or not, though. I only cared about who I was with, and I was with the best people you could ever imagine. Well, all of that abruptly came to an end. We were in the west of the country, Arizona to be exact. I began to feel, well, off. I began to have blurry vision, and I felt nauseous. I rushed to the bathroom, which was really the desert at the time, and I threw up. I vomited blood, again. I knew what that meant immediately, and I told my friends that something was wrong and that I needed to go to a hospital. My legs, head, and sides all ached in excruciating pain, and I passed out. My friends decided to take me to the nearest hospital, which was an hour away in Phoenix. At least that’s what I concluded when I woke up in a hospital bed, surrounded by all of my friends. They told me I passed out after vomiting blood. That part I remembered, the vomiting blood part. They told me that they called my parents, and they’re flying down here immediately. I was relieved to be able to see them in a few hours. Unfortunately over the hours that they weren’t here with me, I had to get tests done. X-rays, blood tests, you name it. They wanted to figure out what was wrong with me, even though I already knew. When my parents arrived, the doctors gave us the results of the tests. The cancer was back, just like I thought. It lit up like a Christmas tree all over my X-rays. Tumors were absolutely everywhere. My brain, my kidneys, and my colon. My blood tests also indicated that the leukemia was back. I knew it was the end for me, but my parents refused to let me go. They were saying how they were going to schedule appointments for radiation and chemo again. It’s honestly hopeless, I’ll be gone in a few months anyway. I tried to make a decision to not go through chemotherapy again and just slowly die. That’s what I would be doing, anyway. Since the cancer spread to my brain there’s not much they could do, but my mom thought otherwise. She wanted to continue treatment up until the point where I am too sick, but I’m already too sick. She still thinks that there’s hope, but I think there’s nothing left that they could do besides let me die.

September 1st, 2015.
Dear Diary,
These last few weeks have been absolute hell. I’ve been in nothing but pain, and I stay in my bed almost all the time unless if I have to go to the bathroom. I had to get an oxygen cannula, since it’s become hard for me to breathe. I can feel myself slowly declining, and I don’t like it one bit. It even hurts to write as much as I used to. I tried writing, but I just couldn’t. So I tore out the pieces of paper, crumpled them up and threw them away.
I lost all of my hair again. Well, the very little that I had had before the cancer returned. It didn’t bother me that I was bald once again, though. I knew it was going to happen eventually.
Lastly, the therapy has not been working like it’s supposed to. The tumors keep on growing and growing, and the cancerous blood cells keep multiplying, like I’m not even getting the therapy. They keep upping my doses, and nothing is working. I am slowly giving up, because I know that the end is near. I can feel it.

September 21st, 2015.
Dear Diary,
This is probably the last time I will ever write. Due to me becoming too sick, I landed in the hospital once again. That’s going to be my permanent residence until I finally pass on. It hurts a lot to write, so I’m going to make this quick.
My mom had me write out my will, and I basically left everything for her and my dad. I left my clothes to my friends who are all the same size as me. I also wished to be buried, but with no open casket service. I don’t want anyone to see the monstrosity I like to call the hollow shell that I live in. I look sick, and the funeral makeup wouldn’t do me any justice. My last request was for my mother to live happily without me, and I hope that she doesn’t dwell on my death for the rest of her life. I ended my life, where she has many more years to go. I don’t want her to waste her life depressed, because she deserves to live life to the fullest, just like I did before I became sick again.

October 2nd, 2015.
This is Anna’s mother. Anna passed on this morning at 8:00 P.M. surrounded by her close family and friends. She passed away peacefully, just like we had hoped she would. She is now an angel, watching over all of us. She will forever be my beautiful guardian angel. Oh, Anna, how will I live without you.

October 10th, 2015.
This last week has been the hardest week I have ever endured. We had to pick out the funeral home, the headstone, the casket, and everything brought me to tears. My husband has been barely speaking. Whenever he does, he bursts into tears over missing our precious little Anna.
The hardest part was picking out an outfit and makeup style for her. We chose a Twenty One Pilots shirt (the one that was signed by the band themselves), ripped jeans, her favorite beat-up pair of low top Converse. For her makeup we did her traditional style; which was a winged eyeliner and a nude colored lip-gloss. We decided to do an open casket, even though she didn’t want us to. We wanted everyone to see how amazingly beautiful she is, even though she was sick. We put her favorite black scarf around her bald head, because that’s what she would have wanted. She always hated her bald head. She said it made her look ugly, but I thought the opposite. I thought  she was beautiful, and I always will.
The funeral service was very emotional as well. Over a thousand people arrived to pay their respects, and to mourn. Even her bullies came. We didn’t bicker, though. I knew that they felt bad about their wrongdoings, and I put those actions aside. Everyone cried and talked about how wonderful Anna was. Her best friends were in hysterics as they went up to the podium to speak about Anna. They talked about the adventures that they went on, and all of their experiences that I would have been mad at Anna about if she was alive. All I could do is laugh at those stories though, because they were pretty funny. When I went up the podium, I stayed strong, even though my voice shook. I talked about how I had hoped for her to grow up into a strong independent woman, and she did in a way. She was responsible, intelligent, and an overall beautiful person. As soon as I stepped off the podium, I broke down. It was too hard to talk about her. I don’t know how I am going to get over this.
Lastly, we drove to the cemetery to bury Anna. There was also a prayer service there, and everyone came. The cemetery was crowded with people seeing the burial of Anna. When they lowered her casket into the ground, that’s when it hit me. It hit me that I was never going to see Anna’s beautiful face light up. It hit me that I am never going to hear her cheery chirp of a laugh. It hit me that I will never see her graduate, or get married, or have children. God, am I going to miss that beautiful girl.