April 20th 1976
Seeing that woman today made me think. Though me and my parents don't always get along, am I capable of abandoning them?
In hindsight, however, I suppose I do have some empathy for Travis. Afterall, the woman was clearly out of her mind, and according to one of the orderlies, she often talks of "mirror people" who communicate with her beyond the glass. It seems like a typical case of Spectrophobia wherin a person simply cannot gaze into a mirror without fear.
Under the circumstances, I would not wish to see either of my parents in such a state. Perhaps it's for the best that Travis tries to forget about her. The concept of time is beyond the woman, who still believes he is a young boy. How tragic. My grandmother must have been incredibly strong willed to retain her sanity in that God forsaken place.
Understandably, Kaufman was grumpy about my impromptu tour through the sanitarium, all but thrusting a tattered cardboard box into my arms. Pictures, clothing and the occassional notebook seemed to adorn the patient's personal posessions. An old man, clinging to what little life he had left. Another wave of sadness hit me.
I have also been burdened with caring for Alessa Gillespie, who was brought in early this morning after a fire was started at her home. The local paper has already published an article about the incident, stating that it was started by a malfunctioning antiquated boiler.
Before my shift ended, I went to dress Alessa's wounds, trying to be as swift and unassuming as possible. That dark room is fueled by hatred, and when I step inside, it's almost as though an aura of deep loathing encases me. Chest heaving ever so slightly, I knew that she was alive. Accompanied by nothing but the constant beeping of a life support machine, I removed the old bandages with haste, trying to avoid gazing directly at her face.
I must have been hallucinating again, because when I finished embalming her, the fresh bandages immediately became stained with blood and pus, oozing from the thick cloth like a porous sponge. Not wanting to leave her like that, I changed them once more, only to witness the same thing happen. It was like a horror movie, and the stench was unbearable. It scared me, so I took my key and locked the door as I left, hoping to forget what I had seen.
It must be withdrawral symptoms. My nerves are erratic. I just need a shot of PTV. A quick inhale, and then all of this will go away.