June Fifth:
It's late. I don't know the time, but I can see the moon outside the window, hanging low in the sky. I may die soon. I need you to know what happened.
I am a sixteen year old girl. My name is Jane.
I was admitted to a mental institution.
Let me get one thing straight: I do not belong here. I am not schzophrenic. I am not!
The last five months have been hell for me, and frankly, I don't know if I'll ever get out of this place.
And if I do, I don't know if I'll get out alive.
This place is a living hell.
And now I'm living in it.
