I told my mom about my desire to write. It’s a private desire but I’ve always had some sort of outlet. I might just wither up if I didn’t have something to write. So I told her. She gave me one of her old journals that she never started…
I can’t even get myself to think about what happened. I let myself lose control. And Sadie’s right. I’m an addict. I really fucked things up. I’m such an idiot.
The doctor thinks they may have been giving me the wrong medication all along. They need to change my meds, observe and adjust. What complete bullshit. We should be able to sue for malpractice, right?
How much longer do I have to be here? Why can’t they just let me go?
Seamus brought me flowers today. No Dizzie. Seamus said she was busy. I wish he hadn’t come. He was just a reminder of what had happened. I feel bad but I made him feel more awkward than he already was. The new meds make me queazy.