Entry Three
Diagnosis
Blue Book,
Might as well start my entries like that
now. Again, I've seen people in movies do that, so why the hell not? Think I
might get this all down. No problemo.
I had a little talk today with the lady
doctor. I forget her name...it's something that starts with an S, I remember
that. Don't really look at her name tag much, and I think it'd be kinda rude of
me to tell her that I forgot it when I've known her for almost three months.
That's right, Blue Bitch--I don't think
I've ever told you for how long I've been stuck here. Ha! It was about three
months ago when I was first taken in here from the Louisiana Hospital and
transferred way up north by my darling older brother. Nobody even tells me
where I'm at (which should be illegal or something) and, quite honestly, at
this point and time I don't think I really care anymore. Maybe it's the drugs
at fault for that. In any case, I'm away from the desert long enough to get
sick of trees, trees, trees--lots and lots of trees. Have I ever mentioned that
I hate the color green? There's a lot of it here, but that's beside the point.
I've been in here for three months. You'd think that a lot of crap has happened
while I'm here, but to be honest, it's been totally uneventful and extremely
boring. Well, except for sleeping. Consequentially, I've been having a lot of
nightmares lately.
My brother just so happens to be the head
director around here, popping out prescriptions to patients like you would
candy. Like I said, the more he sells, the more money he makes. He never
became a psychiatrist because he wanted to be a helpful guy you know, though he
tries to illustrate the illusion that he does. But he can't fool me. Aha! I've
got you all figured out, dear brother and doc of mine. I don't know how much
you expect me to stay here, but I'll find my way out. You can't keep this bag
of bones here forever.
It isn't like Marcus and I ever got
along very well to begin with. He told me the other day that he's just trying
to help, but I know it's all wrong. Everything about this is...wrong. I can't
place my finger on it. It isn't just because I'm starting to have the crappiest
memory ever, either.
Shit. I don't even know what I'm talking
about.
My head's been all fuzzy lately.... I
can't even remember what happened to me a year ago. Everything is all blank.
They say it was the fault of the car crash that ended me up in the hospital in
the first place...that I'm still in shock from it, and that's why it's hard for
me to recall recent events. My short term memory is all fucked up. I'm going to
try to remember, though. Goddammit, I will. Guess that's why I decided to
write, Blue Book, but chances are that come tomorrow I'll forget why all over
again.
He tells me that I'm borderline
schizophrenic and maybe something else. Is that right? No, I think he said
something else. DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN NOW, BOOK? DO YOU? It's some stupid shit
like that...fucking ridiculous. No, not the memory, it's just that I've spent
all these years trying to get over my use of substances, and now all of a
sudden they're injecting me with fucking sedatives that will "help put me
to sleep" when I'm not even tired. Assholes. All of them. I hate you all.
--Alexander