Post by binkyboo on May 27, 2010 23:24:43 GMT -5
((Bink's not written in a journal in years, so I thought it'd be a fun writing excersize to write it when he did. it delves alot into his past. so yay))
Dear Journal,
Dr. Chaika thought that I should be writing in you because speaking my thoughts to an inanimate object would still be saying my thoughts, and apparently I don't do that. Ever. I have to admit, I find this is pretty lame, and I'd much rather be watching the clouds or doodling in you than writing my thoughts, but If I don't come up with a page of writing, Dr. Chaika will be upset with me. It isn't him I worry so much about, but if he is upset and goes home, than Mr. Chaika will know it was me.
It's strange how I have to call Dr. Chaika separate names depending on how I see him. When he's human, he's a doctor. He looks male, he talks male. He makes all the nurses swoon. He bosses everyone in his hospital around like he owns the place. But he does, so I guess when you have the deed, you make the rules.
Then Dr. Chaika goes home, and I have to call him Azzy. He walks around practically naked or in some getup that makes his very reflection stare at him in confusion to his true gender, or sometimes he walks around in nothing at all. He says pants feel odd against his tail.
Azzy is one of them. Those things I was locked up with, in the hospital all those years. Not the ones that attacked me and left the scars on my beck and shoulder. Those things were rats. Its horrible. I can't stand rats, yet they still follow me. The smaller versions. Some nights I can hear them in the walls walking about, calling out for each other so they won't be lonely, looking for food stashing, spying on us. Rats are creepy creatures. Clean and creepy.
None of this really makes sense. Dr. Chaika says its because I'm disjointed from my trauma. He actually thinks I should have stayed in the hospital longer than I did, for Jehan's sake, but Jehan couldn't take the separation anymore. I guess I couldn't either. I don't know. I can't... really feel much of anything.
I'll be turning 17 next month. Strange to think I'll have also been here a year. It' strange to think I lived a year passed all that mess at the hospital.. with my family.
But they aren't my family anymore. Even when they were, they weren't. I miss them all, but every memory I cherish is a lie to me. I hate lies. I hate people that do the lie and everyone lies.
Dr. Chaika lies too. He parades about like some high and mighty doctor like he knows what I've been through or what I think and can magically fix me. He acts like me trying to poison myself on iron is a normal thing.
I'm not... normal.
Why can't he see? Why can't they all see. I'm a freak. An abomination. My parents didn't want me. The people that raised me and lied that they were my parents didn't want me. Pronounced me dead knowing full well I lived. My would be siblings won't even say my name or that I ever existed! And now.. I'm here... listening to a man that hides that he's a freak and lives in a freak show house with a scary man that lives In the shadows and torments me in the darkness so that I will obey him and his for the betterment of his 'second'.
That's one thing about being inside that hospital this last time I'll miss. I got good night sleep in there. I'll miss that.
Then there is Jehan. He hasn't really spoken to me. He just smiles and goes to buy me more candy and stuffed animals until I smile at his attempts to cheer me up. What am I five... I'm almost 17. 17 and I've never even set foot in a high school. I've never watched a football game. I've never had to cram for tests. I.. I never got to eat in a cafeteria or ride a bus or participate in extra curricular activities. I've tried, when they let me wander the shopping areas alone.. I've tried to talk to others my age, but they all laugh at me, and make some snide comment that 'm that freak that lives with the vampires.
Yeah.. freak.
I just wished they'd at least dunk my head into a toilet or throw me into a dumpster like they do to the freak in the TV. Then at least I can say I had some interaction with them. I'm such a freak that the normal freaks get more attention to me.
I think I've written my quota for the session. And what's worse is next time I go to visit Dr. Chaika, he' going to sit there and hmm and haw over this writing and prescribe me some bogus medication that he thinks won't make me ill and say I'll be better in a year. This is a joke. You're a joke.
Life's one big fekking joke, and I haven't even gotten to the punchline...
Dear Journal,
Dr. Chaika thought that I should be writing in you because speaking my thoughts to an inanimate object would still be saying my thoughts, and apparently I don't do that. Ever. I have to admit, I find this is pretty lame, and I'd much rather be watching the clouds or doodling in you than writing my thoughts, but If I don't come up with a page of writing, Dr. Chaika will be upset with me. It isn't him I worry so much about, but if he is upset and goes home, than Mr. Chaika will know it was me.
It's strange how I have to call Dr. Chaika separate names depending on how I see him. When he's human, he's a doctor. He looks male, he talks male. He makes all the nurses swoon. He bosses everyone in his hospital around like he owns the place. But he does, so I guess when you have the deed, you make the rules.
Then Dr. Chaika goes home, and I have to call him Azzy. He walks around practically naked or in some getup that makes his very reflection stare at him in confusion to his true gender, or sometimes he walks around in nothing at all. He says pants feel odd against his tail.
Azzy is one of them. Those things I was locked up with, in the hospital all those years. Not the ones that attacked me and left the scars on my beck and shoulder. Those things were rats. Its horrible. I can't stand rats, yet they still follow me. The smaller versions. Some nights I can hear them in the walls walking about, calling out for each other so they won't be lonely, looking for food stashing, spying on us. Rats are creepy creatures. Clean and creepy.
None of this really makes sense. Dr. Chaika says its because I'm disjointed from my trauma. He actually thinks I should have stayed in the hospital longer than I did, for Jehan's sake, but Jehan couldn't take the separation anymore. I guess I couldn't either. I don't know. I can't... really feel much of anything.
I'll be turning 17 next month. Strange to think I'll have also been here a year. It' strange to think I lived a year passed all that mess at the hospital.. with my family.
But they aren't my family anymore. Even when they were, they weren't. I miss them all, but every memory I cherish is a lie to me. I hate lies. I hate people that do the lie and everyone lies.
Dr. Chaika lies too. He parades about like some high and mighty doctor like he knows what I've been through or what I think and can magically fix me. He acts like me trying to poison myself on iron is a normal thing.
I'm not... normal.
Why can't he see? Why can't they all see. I'm a freak. An abomination. My parents didn't want me. The people that raised me and lied that they were my parents didn't want me. Pronounced me dead knowing full well I lived. My would be siblings won't even say my name or that I ever existed! And now.. I'm here... listening to a man that hides that he's a freak and lives in a freak show house with a scary man that lives In the shadows and torments me in the darkness so that I will obey him and his for the betterment of his 'second'.
That's one thing about being inside that hospital this last time I'll miss. I got good night sleep in there. I'll miss that.
Then there is Jehan. He hasn't really spoken to me. He just smiles and goes to buy me more candy and stuffed animals until I smile at his attempts to cheer me up. What am I five... I'm almost 17. 17 and I've never even set foot in a high school. I've never watched a football game. I've never had to cram for tests. I.. I never got to eat in a cafeteria or ride a bus or participate in extra curricular activities. I've tried, when they let me wander the shopping areas alone.. I've tried to talk to others my age, but they all laugh at me, and make some snide comment that 'm that freak that lives with the vampires.
Yeah.. freak.
I just wished they'd at least dunk my head into a toilet or throw me into a dumpster like they do to the freak in the TV. Then at least I can say I had some interaction with them. I'm such a freak that the normal freaks get more attention to me.
I think I've written my quota for the session. And what's worse is next time I go to visit Dr. Chaika, he' going to sit there and hmm and haw over this writing and prescribe me some bogus medication that he thinks won't make me ill and say I'll be better in a year. This is a joke. You're a joke.
Life's one big fekking joke, and I haven't even gotten to the punchline...