Chemicals
Chapter 2
I'm sitting in this room. It's white all around and there's a metal desk in front of me. The legs are nailed to the floor and it's polished enough to mirror my reflection. I've been waiting here for hours now. They told me they would be back in ten minutes.
Those ten minutes have been pretty long.
They told me they have a strong enough case to put me in a mental institution and keep me out of prison. I told them the two have little difference.
It really is far too bright in this room. I wish someone could turn down the lights. I would, if my legs weren't cuffed to the floor. I don't really understand the reasoning behind my restraints; I did warn them calmly I wasn't out to hurt anybody. The guard just laughed at me. I laughed straight back at his pot belly.
No one says much around here. All I know is that it's May. I also know that I'm not in the mental institution yet. I'm still in custody, but I'm being moved to Los Angeles later today. I think that's what I'm waiting for: Someone to come pick me up. At least that's what the nurse said.
I'm a lot happier now they found me. I know my secret was big and ugly. I know what I did was wrong. I'm a lot happier now I know I'm going to be punished. I'm also pretty relieved that Daddy is gone now. I hope he rots in hell. He deserves it. Everyone in this place tries to get me to talk about Mommy and Daddy. I always tell them to suck dick. Maybe that's the reason for the cuffs. The cuffs are starting to hurt actually, the metal is digging into my ankle, it's awfully uncomfortable. I hope they can take me away pretty soon.
I kind of like being in this room, if you drift from your mind a little, the white walls become moving pictures. It's a little bit like your own cinema. I haven't told anyone else about my cinema though. It's not right to see things that aren't there. Mommy used to say that things are only true if I believe in them. So hopefully if I tell myself the cinema isn't really there, it will go away. Unfortunately, so far, it hasn't worked.
The floors are padded, a bit like a crazy person's house. I used to have a friend in middle school. She was really crazy, she didn't like sharp edges. So her house was covered in bubble wrap. Mommy told me she had an OCD. I think she just liked to be safe. I went to her house twice before Mommy stopped me being friends with her. Mommy had a habit of choosing my friends. I guess she wanted to stop me being crazy like them. I guess that kinda backfired a little.
If you're really quiet, you can hear people walking past this room. There isn't a window. I guess they were scared all the crazy people would use the glass to slit their wrists. It's a shame really, I would like a little bit of sunlight. I've been indoors for weeks. I asked my new therapist if I could go on an outing to the outside. She just looked at me with those big brown eyes of hers and said she was sorry, but they don't trust me. I asked her why and those eyes filled with tears. She said she didn't know why, but she trusted me. I told her she was crazy. She had to go then.
They give me nice food though. But they don't cook waffles like Mommy. I wish I hadn't killed Mommy. But I had to, she would never understood why I had to shoot my father. She would have hated me forever, I couldn't live with that.
Some times I think about dying. Some times I want to die so bad, I get really, really mad. They won't let me though, die, I mean. I've lost count of the times I've screamed and pleaded with the guards to shoot me with their guns. They ignore me every time and carry on pushing my arms into a straight jacket.
In the cold morning that follows the sedatives, I always feel really empty. Those are the times I want to die the most.
Those ten minutes have been pretty long.
They told me they have a strong enough case to put me in a mental institution and keep me out of prison. I told them the two have little difference.
It really is far too bright in this room. I wish someone could turn down the lights. I would, if my legs weren't cuffed to the floor. I don't really understand the reasoning behind my restraints; I did warn them calmly I wasn't out to hurt anybody. The guard just laughed at me. I laughed straight back at his pot belly.
No one says much around here. All I know is that it's May. I also know that I'm not in the mental institution yet. I'm still in custody, but I'm being moved to Los Angeles later today. I think that's what I'm waiting for: Someone to come pick me up. At least that's what the nurse said.
I'm a lot happier now they found me. I know my secret was big and ugly. I know what I did was wrong. I'm a lot happier now I know I'm going to be punished. I'm also pretty relieved that Daddy is gone now. I hope he rots in hell. He deserves it. Everyone in this place tries to get me to talk about Mommy and Daddy. I always tell them to suck dick. Maybe that's the reason for the cuffs. The cuffs are starting to hurt actually, the metal is digging into my ankle, it's awfully uncomfortable. I hope they can take me away pretty soon.
I kind of like being in this room, if you drift from your mind a little, the white walls become moving pictures. It's a little bit like your own cinema. I haven't told anyone else about my cinema though. It's not right to see things that aren't there. Mommy used to say that things are only true if I believe in them. So hopefully if I tell myself the cinema isn't really there, it will go away. Unfortunately, so far, it hasn't worked.
The floors are padded, a bit like a crazy person's house. I used to have a friend in middle school. She was really crazy, she didn't like sharp edges. So her house was covered in bubble wrap. Mommy told me she had an OCD. I think she just liked to be safe. I went to her house twice before Mommy stopped me being friends with her. Mommy had a habit of choosing my friends. I guess she wanted to stop me being crazy like them. I guess that kinda backfired a little.
If you're really quiet, you can hear people walking past this room. There isn't a window. I guess they were scared all the crazy people would use the glass to slit their wrists. It's a shame really, I would like a little bit of sunlight. I've been indoors for weeks. I asked my new therapist if I could go on an outing to the outside. She just looked at me with those big brown eyes of hers and said she was sorry, but they don't trust me. I asked her why and those eyes filled with tears. She said she didn't know why, but she trusted me. I told her she was crazy. She had to go then.
They give me nice food though. But they don't cook waffles like Mommy. I wish I hadn't killed Mommy. But I had to, she would never understood why I had to shoot my father. She would have hated me forever, I couldn't live with that.
Some times I think about dying. Some times I want to die so bad, I get really, really mad. They won't let me though, die, I mean. I've lost count of the times I've screamed and pleaded with the guards to shoot me with their guns. They ignore me every time and carry on pushing my arms into a straight jacket.
In the cold morning that follows the sedatives, I always feel really empty. Those are the times I want to die the most.