I never thought much of journaling before. Even now, I suppose this isn't much of one - a torn piece of wallpaper and remaining blood from the leeches, that's not much. But this helps. Writing helps. Even if I'm writing nothing, I feel... at ease. Maybe its the blood loss talking.
Another scrap of wallpaper, but this time, a pencil... how strange. Stranger, too, is the fact that I found what appears to be a response to my previous scrawlings. Whomever wrote it writes as if they know me... this is either proof that I AM actually insane, which would be quite inconvenient, indeed, or... something very strange is going on here.
Its not the blood loss talking, Iz. Writing helps, and will keep helping. Keep writing - I'll make sure you can. Take care of each other. You might not be crazy, but there are some within those walls who truly do need asylum. You'll protect them. You'll fight for them. You'll kill for them. And it will all be so very worth it.
My "friend" assures me that writing will keep me sane. I suppose that if I'm already crazy enough to be taking advice from a possible hallucination that it can't hurt to humor it. Its been months since I had a proper meal - I never thought that would be something of any concern, as I tended to avoid eating prior to being locked up. Strange how that can change one's perspective. I feel sick constantly, my hands shake (I'm amazed I have enough control of my hands to write as legibly as I am), and I've been fighting a headache I think for a good week now. No one has yet spoken more than a few words to me, and whether this is out of fear or self-preservation I cannot be certain. But I do wish that a real person would speak to me, even just to say hello...