Entry Twenty-Three
Family Ties

Sarah wants me to start sharing my entries; if not Doctor Wendel, than at least with her. I'm afraid. I think I should start tearing out pages, or burning them. If only they allowed lighters at Delial Park.... Still, if there's ever any the slightest chance that I do look back on this book, I think I'd rather try to remember some of the good things that happened as well. Then again, what good things have happened here?
    Marcus's mood seems to have regressed from being mildly tolerable to highly intolerable. He says he won't put up with my shit anymore (nice word choice, Doc). That's all fine and dandy, though. I don't care, just as long as he doesn't hit me anymore. My face is already numb from the pain last week; I don't need to go through it all over again. But Marcus is convinced that everything is my fault. All of it. From way back when we were kids he always believed that I was the reason Mother and Father's marriage turned the way it did. It was my fault Mother went crazy and Father killed himself. Apparently, all of my problems date far back to my early childhood.
    Gee, I never knew that.
    The problem with Marcus, I think, is that he has a hard time taking the blame, so he always has to put the weight on someone else. He can't live life knowing that he was wrong about something, even once. It's stupid, because he's supposed to be my oldest brother, someone I could count on, and as it turns out he's someone I can't ever look to when I need help. Dominick...I haven't heard from in years since his call about our parent's funerals.
    How do you share that with people? The doctors here want to know everything, even things that they have no right to know, such as family. A little hard to talk honestly about your family when one of them helps run the place, ain't it? I already know that Wendel will try to piece together these events like some stupid puzzle, linking this to that and suddenly we've found the cure to my ailments. The end.
    Neat.
    She's stopped by my window every now and then. What would they think if they saw her? If they could see her? Or do they see her, floating there, watching my room from a distance? Do they notice her reflection in the mirrors and waters as I do? Have I gone crazy? I don't want to think it, but I believe I'm starting to become beyond hope. It hurts too much. Then again, that could also be just my broken wrist.

--Alexander

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