was back in the padded cell for the whole day, but at least that gave me time
to write this without them seeing it. If they saw it they would take it away
and give it to a psychologist, so that they could try to assess my mind. It is
annoying having to secret this about my person, but at least when I’m gone,
someone, even if it’s just a janitor or cleaner, will find this and know how I
felt. As long as it’s not a doctor who finds it. Whoever does discover it will
probably just throw it away, why would my misery and suffering be of any
interest to them? At the end of the day, when they’ve finished their shift,
they can just lock me away in my cell and leave. They don’t have to stay, just
slamming their heads against the walls to have something to do. Sometimes, just
to stop myself from going insane from boredom, I pretend that my I-pod is
pounding Iron Maiden music against my eardrums, I close my eyes, lean against
the wall and bang my head up and down. It’s suddenly as if I’m fourteen again,
back in my room head-banging. I always hope that I’ll open my eyes and be back
home. But I don’t regret anything I’ve done. I won’t wish that I hadn’t tried
to kill myself. I was driven to it. I don’t care if everyone looks down on me.
I don’t give a damn about what anyone thinks.

The End

2 comments about this exercise Feed