Why am I even bothering with this? It's not making me feel any better.
I have less than three years left.
I had stopped thinking about it for awhile... until I was reminded recently. And since then, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. It's such a small number, such a short length of time. Ignoring it only makes the time go faster, it seems. These two years I've been in here have passed far too quickly... or not quickly enough; I haven't decided.
There's so much I haven't done, and so much I can't do. They really have taken everything away from me when I was put in here. I can't even live out the rest of my life the way I want to, everything I do is scheduled and controlled... not just by the penal system, as if that weren't bad enough; but by some of the other inmates, even. It's beginning to get to be more than I can bear. ...At least the system isn't forcing me to eat. Most of the food here makes me sick.
Three years or three minutes in this wretched place, what does it even matter? I'll never see the outside again. Everything is always the same here, so what's the difference if I'm executed now or later? I doubt I'll find even a speck of happiness in my time left, so what's the point? They've scheduled out my brief future for me definitively, and it's not something I'm looking forward to.
Even since moving to this block, things barely changed; in fact, things only got worse for me. ...I really hate this place.
Why are they making me wait three years?
Matt Engarde has been quiet lately. Maybe it has something to do with our new cell arrangement... he can't see me all the time now. Or maybe it has something to do with that talk we had in my journal. ...I can't believe I let myself get that carried away with my words. He doesn't need to know these things, he'll just use it against me somehow. He's probably already laughing to himself over how I got stuck across from a beast and he gets to see his girlfriend every day.
Still... his silence is... unsettling. I spoke to him a little during Easter. ...He gave me oranges. I can't figure out why. Whenever he gets oranges, he usually just gives some to his girlfriend and keeps the rest. I've never known him to be generous, but... I don't know, he won't tell me what he's up to. I'll probably figure it out the hard way. I always do.
I'm really not sure how I feel about him anymore. Despite all that he's done to me... I'd like to believe he's changing, that he won't attack or threaten me anymore...
But whenever I see him, all I can think about is what's behind that hair.
I had stopped thinking about it for awhile... until I was reminded recently. And since then, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. It's such a small number, such a short length of time. Ignoring it only makes the time go faster, it seems. These two years I've been in here have passed far too quickly... or not quickly enough; I haven't decided.
There's so much I haven't done, and so much I can't do. They really have taken everything away from me when I was put in here. I can't even live out the rest of my life the way I want to, everything I do is scheduled and controlled... not just by the penal system, as if that weren't bad enough; but by some of the other inmates, even. It's beginning to get to be more than I can bear. ...At least the system isn't forcing me to eat. Most of the food here makes me sick.
Three years or three minutes in this wretched place, what does it even matter? I'll never see the outside again. Everything is always the same here, so what's the difference if I'm executed now or later? I doubt I'll find even a speck of happiness in my time left, so what's the point? They've scheduled out my brief future for me definitively, and it's not something I'm looking forward to.
Even since moving to this block, things barely changed; in fact, things only got worse for me. ...I really hate this place.
Why are they making me wait three years?
Matt Engarde has been quiet lately. Maybe it has something to do with our new cell arrangement... he can't see me all the time now. Or maybe it has something to do with that talk we had in my journal. ...I can't believe I let myself get that carried away with my words. He doesn't need to know these things, he'll just use it against me somehow. He's probably already laughing to himself over how I got stuck across from a beast and he gets to see his girlfriend every day.
Still... his silence is... unsettling. I spoke to him a little during Easter. ...He gave me oranges. I can't figure out why. Whenever he gets oranges, he usually just gives some to his girlfriend and keeps the rest. I've never known him to be generous, but... I don't know, he won't tell me what he's up to. I'll probably figure it out the hard way. I always do.
I'm really not sure how I feel about him anymore. Despite all that he's done to me... I'd like to believe he's changing, that he won't attack or threaten me anymore...
But whenever I see him, all I can think about is what's behind that hair.