I would like to start by saying, there are a lot of bad people in the world, but I am certainly not in their company. I am a good person. I recycle, I pay my taxes and I donate to the LGBTQ Youth shelter downtown.
Category: Deranged Psychosis (Page 1 of 2)
I just want to make one thing clear: I’m not sick. I think a sick person wouldn’t be able to recognize the difference between right and wrong. I knew what I did was wrong before I did it. I also knew there wouldn’t be any consequences, I suppose. Nobody was ever going to know.
I use my fingers to prise apart your eyes. The penlight is to see if your pupils, like little black pearls, are still round and wide. Will they dilate this time, or are you still out cold? The gloves on my hands are to protect me from the germs, the mucus; your ‘goo.’
When people think of homes on the beach, they think of paradise; panoramic views with pristine white sands leading into hues of blue. They think of plate glass and every room is a room with a view. Homes surrounded by ocean, of private beaches beyond. All of these vistas set to the sloshing sound of the tides as they rise in and out like the beat of breaths.
You were supposed to be a doctor. If you’re raised by two doctors, you’re also supposed to be a doctor because that is their plan. You would graduate high school and attend some prestigious medical school and they would pay for it and everyone would be happy. Well, you didn’t want that. You always wanted to write. Imagine their disappointment when you told them.
I’ve been keeping the journal. I wrote my first entry. It happened when I was washing the dishes. I’m not sure they actually came clean. The water that came out of the tap was thick and red. Normally, I do prefer the dishes to be spotless. I can’t tell but I think they’ve been stained. It’s not really a big deal as I’m not bothered by this nor by the current state of my red-ringed kitchen sink.