Note: (Please donít think that the entry that follows this little explanation is actually an excerpt from my own diary. Because itís not. I donít even keep a diary. It is something that I wrote in my creative writing course this semester, so I thought I would toss it out into The Strangelands. Oh, and even though it ends like there should be more, there is nothing else right now. But Iíll try to add something more during my semester course, and if anything comes of it, you wonít be the first ones to know, but Iíll definitely let you read it before I send it to my grandma.)
Those first two words alone make me think the people running this place, the people wearing white coats and telling me to do this shit probably should be committed along with us. Whatever. I'll do whatever I need to do to get out, even if that means appeasing some tight-ass shrinks with some words on a paper "exploring the internal workings of my mind and soul."
I'm not sure how things are right now, but I know they're not the same. I don't know what city I'm in, and I don't even care. Why does it matter? It doesn't. All of this shit that we are brought up to believe matters, just doesn't. Where I'm going. Where I've been. Why does it matter? It doesn't. All that matters is where I am right now.
Because that's all we have, is the right now. Isn't it? And all I know in the right now is that I'm not doing this alone. When I have to start doing this alone, well, that's when I have to worry about actually going crazy.
I admit it: I wish I could remember how we came to be in here. It's been nearly a month now, and I don't think we're any closer to getting out than we were the first day we came here. I guess distributing the mental cases into groups of males and females will magically help everyone out. Not really sure what their thinking on that one is yet, but obviously I don't make the rules. Hell, I don't even know the rules.
But we're in this together, that's what matters. I don't get to see him that much. Sometimes I notice that there are other guys in my therapy group, so maybe they believe that keeping us in different therapy groups will help our progress. I don't know why they don't just listen to me when I say that if we were together, we would both get out of here a lot faster. I know him. And he knows me. And if we could just have some time together to figure out what has happened, it would be fine. Everything would be fine.
If they would just talk to us together. If they would just see how we work when we're together, then it would make sense to them. Seeing each other during the ever so stimulating "rec time" we have isn't really much of an opportunity to get anything productive accomplished--at least apparently not where sanity is concerned.
Yesterday, we both decided that maybe the only way to get out of here is to make a run for it. Then we talked about all of the crappy movies where people are trying to escape from a hospital of some sort, and decided we better put our plans of a great escape off for a while until we can iron out all of the details that Hollywood seems to overlook.
That time, our time, it's all that keeps me sane. When we can sit, and smoke, and pump ourselves full of coffee. That's our time. Our thing. Even before we landed in this God-forsaken place, that's what we did. It's what keeps us from completely breaking down.
Today in group, Dr. Uneven Eyebrows has asked me not to see him after dinner. That was my "homework" for today: don't see him during rec time, and write a diary entry exploring the internal workings of my mind and soul. But fuck him. They can't stop me from seeing him. So until they figure out a way to do that, I guess it's on to the second part of the assignment.
Now, as for the internal workings of my mind and soul, let's go exploring...shall we?