Chapter 3

Journal Entry for Thursday September 18, 1997

I feel like hell warmed over. I haven't slept a decent night's sleep in over 2 weeks now. I am actually seriously debating taking one of the little pills that my damn psychiatrist gave me.

No one's up now. Its 4:16 a.m. according to my alarm clock. Like I said last time, the dark just seems so welcoming and cozy.

That's funny. I would've sworn I just saw something out of the corner of my eye. It almost looked like my dad. It must just be the lack of sleep getting to me finally. Maybe tonight I will take one of those damn pills. It ought to satisfy my damn psychiatrist.

According to him, he just wants to see me get better, physically and mentally. Well, here's my thoughts on that: fuck him! He doesn't know how fucking bad I feel. His father is still alive according to him. His mother as well.

I swear I just saw that ghost again. Maybe I am insane…. No! No, I can't start thinking like that. If I do, then it just proves everyone who tries to psychoanalyze me right. And I don't want that to happen. I just need sleep. Then I can think clearer. Hopefully.

I know what I said before, but I'm about sick of doing this goddamn journal. I could think of a really good place for my damn psychiatrist to shove it while I'm not writing in it though.

-Randy

A/N I will honestly try to make the chapters longer from here on out. The only reasons they're so short is because:

1. They're journal entries, and journal entries aren't typically long

2. I'm still kind of honing my writing skills.