For July, it's unbelievably cold. You would need sweaters to stay warm. It's not cold outside, its nice out there. It's cold in here, my little frozen hell.
I'm locked in this white bricked room for things I don't remember. Apparently I killed more people then there can be counted on my hands and feet, but I don't remember a thing.
But since I got to this stupid insane asylum, little bits have come to me, but no murder yet.
I don't even remember how I got the scars that coat my arms, but they must be self made. They look to perfect to be accidents.
But some look like they were from struggling victims. I don't know why but tracing them with my long slender fingers make me smile. I probably do belong here.
In this mental hospital, I get to paint pretty pictures and do silly jigsaw puzzles while taking pills but I'm not allowed by the other patients. They don't trust me enough.
But its ok. I don't even trust myself. This room is nice, I can't harm myself no matter how hard I try.
The thing is, I don't try at all. I don't want to hurt myself or at least have them think I'm able to play with others. This fluffy room is very lonesome. But it catches up on sleep that was sucked out of me from the outside world.
So cozy it's so easy to drift...
It was like every other day, total crap. School was shit and everyone's a dick. It's nice to be alone in the house before Dad comes home.
Before walking up the stairs, I grabbed one of the good knives, the one that cuts you good. It's my motherfucking favorite because the scars don't heal and it really brings the blood out.
It helps me deal with the stress and depression and this fucked up world. It's such a fucking relief. My fucking relaxation method.
As I watch the blood drip, it falls to the carpet, slowly turning onto the stains that are already there. I licked the remaining of it so I can see the placement of this soon to be scar. For some reason, it looks deeper. It should, it brought more fucking pain.
Suddenly, I heard the door open. I shove the knife under my bed, I'll put it back when father uses the restroom. I ran downstairs, putting my sweater on. He doesn't need to see my scars.
I slowly regain consciousness, realizing how well some of this medication is working.
I check my arm to find the scar from my dream. It was there, white and permanent. None of the others from the dream were there. This dream must have been a memory form a while ago.
I look up at notice a nurse staring at me, probably for a while. Shit. I'm never going to leave FluffyLand.
She carries a tray with water and pills. Yay! More Drugs! Because I'm not fucked up enough, no!
"Sweetie, I'm going to see if we can trust you with your pill taking. We think you have really changed and can handle this simple task. I'll be here if you need help." She hands me the pills and water, of course, plastic cup.
I don't know how I managed this but I spilled the pills and water all over myself like a little child.
"Poor Bunny. You need more help. I'll get you something so you can sleep."
Poor Bunny? What the fuck? Did she just fucking call me bunny? What the hell? And I need something to help me sleep? I'm so sick of this place. It's driving me insane.
Tehe, silly pun.
She returned into the room, more pills and water in hand. The amount of pills, though, has increased much. She helped me with choking them down.
She tucked me in as I felt very drowsy, eyelids weighing so much. It being very hard to stay awake, I gave up. Its so cozy as I return to wonderful sleep. I hope it missed me.
Staring into the mirror, I don't recognize the bunny-eared staring back. Raccoon eyes, black floppy ears. I'm curious to know where that happy little girl went. This bunny monster probably ate her like she did with so many other victims.
I'm not myself anymore. I wake up with blood all over my hands. Cuts running up my arms, like from some struggling being. The only memories I have is me getting pissed at my now ex. This fucking scares me, scares me shitless.