We're Just a Chemical Creation.

It's day sixteen, and I'm back in Bucharest, back in my hospital gown, and the same flannel pants that I've been wearing in this goddamned hospital room. I know it's gross to be wearing the same pants for about a week at the time.

Oh, well.

No one's visited me since I got here, so I don't care if my hair is one monsturous cowlick, or that my nail polish is chipped to shit.

I've never lost faith in humanity, or myself, or my doctors. Never. But now, I'm by myself with the same Nurse I've had for ages. She brings me a new type of flower everyday. She is my only friend.

She said I might like to shave my head soon, because it's falling out anyway, and I look like I've been mauled by a bear. It's no fun, really. I'm no longer sure that I can stay sane in this ward.

I snuck my cell phone in so I could hack into the hospital's Wi-Fi, they won't let me have my laptop.

I know I'm going about this all wrong, but I need someone's help, advice, anything.

If you're reading this.... I don't believe in good anymore. I need someone to tell me that I'm not going crazy.

Has anyone here given up on themselves, their disease, their friends?

I used to think they let me down by not visiting, or calling, but maybe I'm letting them down. They told me I would beat this disease, and I would be back at home, school, whatever, within the year.

I believed them. I did.

But now I'm not so sure.