Well, I have been here for about a week now. This place is creepy as fuck. The plaques say it was built in 1888 or something. It reminds me of something out of some old movie or something. It has it’s charm I guess but it still weirds me out sometimes. I guess I better get used to it though. It doesn’t look like I am getting out of here anytime soon. My roommate is ok. She tried to off herself too. Her douche boyfriend was cheating on her and took the kids and left her. Her and I are overdose buddies.  Not as cool as she makes it sound but yeah. There is a girl here that is just a few years younger than me and she is here for substance abuse stuff. Something about a hold her parents put her on. She is quite vocal and pretty funny if you ask me. The nurses don’t agree. There is this schizo guy that keeps following everyone around and telling us he will give us AIDS if we aren’t nice to him.  He is what they call a frequent flyer here.  There is the sweet old lady who makes up stuff. I am sure she believe it but holy shit, she has some pretty tall tales.  She apparently has like 10 doctorates, dated Elvis, is the president’s cousin and was married to James Dean and Rudolph Valentino.  Then there is the lady who thinks her stuff animal is a real dog.  She makes barking noises when she talks to it. Very charming.  Then there is me that homicidal arsonist as the state would like everyone to believe. They make me seem like a crazed killer with a thirst for blood the way they talk about me. I guess that gives me street cred?  I guess if I were in prison it would, I don’t really know how all this stuff works yet. We are all wacko to everyone either way I guess. Everyone else here seems to stay to themselves.  The staff is ok I guess. The nurses aren’t very friendly and the guy who runs groups is a total tool. I have to be graced with his presence once a day.  He tells me that my goals in life are no longer realistic based on my current life circumstances. Way to be a dream crushing dick dude.  I met with my Dr and she seems ok. Not like that nasty Dr. Simms in Nightmare on Elm St. She actually acts like she wants to know what’s up with me. She is more of a Dr. Gordon or a Nancy. Not sure if she is at a Nancy level yet though. She gave me homework. So that takes her down a few levels on the coolness factor. So, Doc thinks this will help me to write this shit down. She calls it a trauma timeline and thinks journaling is this great outlet for me. I guess we will give it a try. Not like things can get much worse. So here we go… She wants me to start with the earliest memories…I guess a few birthday’s and Christmas stuff come up. The things I got for them but not really the actual events. The first real memory I guess was a summer vacation down South to see mom’s family. I had to be maybe 4, I guess. We played mini golf at an amusement park and my dad and uncle made a bet about who could ride the rollercoaster the most times without puking. I remember my dad being my hero back then. I copied everything he did. If dad liked it, so did I. My god the fucked up things I ate to be like dad…sardines, and liver and onions. Barf…choked it down though in the name of father daughter fellowship. Dad was the most infectiously happy person I recall ever being around. As I grew older, I would learn more about his own fucked up childhood. His bitch of a mother and her scandalous and downright evil side. I never got to meet her. She died right around the time I was spawned upon the earth. She was the perfect Disney villain apparently. The EVIL QUEEN! Gorgeous, materialistic and a psychobitch. But we will get back to her later. Despite her bullshit my dad was a great father and husband. By all account’s life was good for the first 5ish years of my life. Payday Friday adventures with dad and my sister will mom was at work. She worked days while he worked nights. Dad would take us to get orange soda and white cheddar cheese popcorn which I was convinced was made at his job for some reason. Mom never let us have junk food so I just I assumed that was where it came from. But back then I also believed my grandparents lived in Disneyland and that my godfather invented the Oreo cookie. Dad had a set of very planned out things we would do on these paydays. After picking up his check, it was off to the bank to deposit it and get a roll of quarters. Then to Baskin Robbins where I would get pink bubble gum, he got almond pistachio and my sister go rocky road. From there we went to the record store where my sister and I were allowed to help him pick out records. He had a massive collection of records that lined the walls of the walk-in closet of our guest room. I would lay in there sometimes and be lost in all the artwork on them. When we got home, he would let us listen to the new records and then we would play name that tune with some of the older records. We would win a quarter for each right answer. We were then off to McDonald’s to buy our own happy meals with our winnings, At least that is what he would tell us. He would sneak in the rest of the money to cover the cost without us knowing. From there it was off to the park where dad would fill his pockets with the remains of the roll of quarters and it would rain silver coins on us. We would keep our new found riches to buy toys or snack on future outings with him. Things were so much more simple then. I was a kid then. The kind of kid that felt safe. That felt loved. That didn’t last for much longer. All to soon things would go from bad to worse and that life would be nothing more than a memory.

Well, that was so super helpful Doc... I guess should get some sleep. I have my first family visit tomorrow since its Christmas. I am sure that will go soooooooo well. Seriously, fuck my life.

Next Chapter: Entry Two