Psych Testing (phan)

January 1

An empty existence with lonely echoes. Metal doors and groaning beds my only comfort in a hell hole of all hell.

An asylum full of people with problems; those who see and those who cannot. Those that hear and those that listen.

Doctor Linder said I should keep this journal to keep my sanity. He said he promises he won't look inside it and that he'll never take it, ever. He said he doesn't want me to end up like everyone else when he knows I have potential to grasp the freedom I lost.

In all truthfulness I don't want to keep this dumb journal. Not only does it make me feel feminine but there's no point. But then again there's nothing really to do once we're forced back in our rooms.

The progress I've made isn't very much and yet it still surpasses the crazies around me.

Linda is screaming again. She always does that. She screams and screams until there is blood pouring from her mouth. Then she laughs. She sticks her fingers in and uses it to paint the walls and she laughs and laughs.

Sometimes she uses it as lipstick and smears the blood all over her lips. She even puts it on her cheeks for blush.

Mike just said hi to me, he asked about the journal and I didn't answer, like always. He is the nurse and makes sure to give us our meds at night and in the morning.

Though as I'm writing I've already shoved them in the hole that's in the floor. I don't know where it leads but every time I get meds I put them down there.

It's funny because I can't hear them hit the floor and I can't hear anything at all down there.

Then I drink my water to make it look like I took it and when he comes back he checks my mouth, checks my room, and when he sees no pills he pats my head like a dog and says, "Good boy, Dan."

I don't know what else to write but it's dinner time so we're all being called out of our rooms to pray. After we pray we eat and sometimes if we're really good we get dessert and milk.

See ya.