"
1st year. Winter. Day 39
Name: Tyson
I was instructed to write my thoughts down on in a journal if I didn't want to tell it to anyone. It is suppose to help me deal with my memories.
I'm not sure I believe that, but at this point, it doesn't hurt to try.
Mr.Anderson is my shrink. He smells like pine tree, and I wonder if he goes into the forest a lot.
I'm supposed to talk about my nightmares. I can't sleep and it's affecting my functionality.
But maybe this is the dream, and if I go to sleep here, I'll wake up in the real world.
Back on that table.
I should have made myself ran harder toward the exit.
I must have grown weak over the calm years before.
That's what I get for letting myself slack off in the peace.
If I had just forced myself last a little longer and gotten to the exit. Just a little bit more.
But no point wishing for the impossible.
I fell and ended up in that bright room with the hard metal table.
I don't want to wake up.
This is writing is stupid. My thoughts are all over the place and I don't think it's helping me at all.
I feel sick
"