From my plastic-covered windows, I can see that the snow that’d fallen is starting to melt. It’s only February, but I’m happy about it already.
She’s been really… on edge the past day or two. Maybe they’ve altered her meds already. She was totally fine the first, but after the nurses started feeding her purple pills instead of the calm-looking blue ones, she’s been hyperactive.
There’s not much to say about myself yet. I haven’t been here long enough to write much. But I have to write SOMETHING if I want to have a prayer of getting out of here in one, scar-free [maybe] piece.
I actually have some half-exciting news to write about. I received a letter today… from my mom. It’s not very long, but I’ll copy it into my journal. Just in case
Here it is:
Alexis,
How are things? I know that your father and I haven’t kept in contact with you, but we had a very good reason for it. Please know that that is just our way of dealing with this.
We hope you’ll come home soon.
- Mom
I crumpled it into a tiny paper ball and threw it into the trash can after I read it. What a waste of paper, Mom. If she wanted to tell me mundane details like that, she could have just called me. Why bother wasting a perfectly good sheet of paper?
I should consider finding a razorblade or something. The pain is becoming too much to bear.
But, I do realize that doing that would only irritate my therapist… and whoever else works here because they will realize that they are failing their job of trying to make me better.
Eh, maybe some other time. For now, I’ll just contend with this journal. This
Whatever. Do I really need this therapy crap just because I swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills?
If I HONESTLY wanted to die, I would have just cut through my heart. It’s easy enough to do.
