Entry eleven.

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5/30/04

The white four walls I loved so much now taunts me. Every waking moment feels cold and empty.

I don't see the beautiful brown eyed boy as often now, I think they moved his room.

Four months I've been here now. I miss home.

Home.

Home is where the heart is.

Home is where there isn't a millions little numbers painted in red on my wall. The number between 6 and 8. Plastered my wall.

So many.

Too many to count.

Im to tired to fight it.

I just cry. And that's why these pages are wet with tears.

Mental Heath; PhanWhere stories live. Discover now