August 8th 1983
04:32 No change...
06:07 No change...
09:55 No change...
The clock is ticking, but still she lies there, chest heaving as she struggles to breath, eyes empty as she stares at the ceiling, as though there's nothing but hot air inside her head.
I tried to leave but my legs gave in, bruises on my knees where I fell, hand inches from the handle. Maybe she wants me to stay? But I want to go. Seven years of repeating the same routine, like a rusty cog that's slowly grinding to a halt.
I had a plan. I've finally cracked. I had a plan. Didn't work.
Ask doctor to let me quite being in charge of that patient. It's too weird. Still alive, but with wounds that won't heal.
Told the doctor I quit. Wouldn't work at that hospital anymore.
Wrist hurts. He grabbed. I got mad and yelled at him. Told him I didn't care what would happen. Told him I'd rather die.
But then I ran out of PTV. Begged him for more. On my back. On my belly. Whatever it took. Can't function without it. If I'm the cog, then it's my oil, keeping me running so I don't creak to a stop.
Can't. It's too much.
The room is filled with insects. Even with doors and windows shut they get in to spite me.
To the hospital...
Spiders, ants, locusts. They tickle my flesh as they creep over my skin, leaving a trail of venom that seeps into my veins. Tried sealing the cracks with bandages, but they gnaw through them, scurry underneath the frame to attack.
In my hair. In my ears. My eyes. Any orifice.
Get them out!
Feeling bad. Need to throw up. But nothing comes out. Vomiting only bile. Blood and pus flow from the faucet. I try to stop it, but it won't turn off.
I poured a glass of water for myself, but it was discoloured. Congealed like an old wound. I dropped it and it smashed, shards slicing my hands as I bent to pick them up.
Need drug.
Help me...