November 29, 1956
It's my first night here at the Rockfield Clinic , my mother drove all the to New Orleans from California to bring me here. She feels that I need a detox from the booming atmosphere back home. She says that the voices I hear when I am all alone are from all the late nights out and the countless martinis. Apparently there was a big story done on this place about how once you come in you never go out, but mother of course called before and the man's voice was full of assurance that I would be well taken care of and my mother had not a thing to worry about. The Beds here are quite comfortable, I have a nice few of the Mississippi, I really think I'm to a lot of this place.
They changed my room, my bed is not comfortable and I do not even have a window, just some peep hole to the room next to me. It's cold, and there are no blankets, I just finished brushing my teeth... In the toilet, this old rusted toilet with warm water. When my mother hears of this mess she will be appalled.
The damn doctor took away my writing privileges, how ridiculous! This is no clinic where they mean to help you, this is a prison where they mean to chew you up and spit you out. I am get more sick by the minutes, these 4 walls are tearing me apart, closing me in, making it insanely hard to breathe I don't know how much longer I can take this !!
I can not go any longer. These damn voices will not shut the hell up. They are getting worse, so much louder. Telling me to do awful things.. I'm starting to think I want to. I can even see passed this. Nothing was like this a month ago, I heard them here and there, only at bedtime. I just want to be home, with my toes deep in the sand, I want my mom, I want school, I want to wake up early. I do not want this. I just want to go home.
It is Christmas and I here. No family, no friends, just the guy in the next room over who can’t seem to keep his hand out of his pants. Oh, yeah and my “friends”. They are quite loud today, louder than normal. I’m just tired, my head hurts, my arms.. they hurt. My pencil sharpeners are all broke, in the corner. My “friends” taught me how to break them open. I do not like what they are telling me to do.. but I guess if they are my “friends” I should listen.
Well, I am not leaving. I’ll probably never leave. My “friends” think that it is best if I go home with them. I think today, to start off the new year I will go. They tell me it’ll be grand, I want grand, not this shit hole. All I have to do is one slice to my neck, and I can go. Easy, I’ll be “free” they say.
I found this book, that girl who wrote before me, yeah she’s dead. She swallowed a bunch of razor blades and then one cut her throat. Well atleast thats what all the rumors were. This place is creepy. Bunch a weirdos. My momma dead too, and my pop, sister, dog and 3 fish. I lit the house on fire, so that why I’m here. I didn’t like them anyway, so they say if and when i get out here I can go off to some foster house, ya know where they make yummy chicken and tuck me in at night. If i do everything right.
I used to love this day back home, momma and pop would get into fights and pop would leave my mommas candy right there on the table and she would be too sick to look at it, so i ate it all. Every last piece. The doctor is wanting to see me tomorrow, he said he need to look at my brain, ya know that squishy thing in my head. People here are saying I'm gonna be dead, because my family is dead. I did killed them, but why that mean I have to be dead, silly people. The cute old lady told me there is shiny pointy stuff in the doctor's room and to watch out, oh and to say my prayers before I go on the table.