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March 18th, 1920
Happy 19th Birthday to me. I have been here almost a year. I don’t write often because there is nothing to write about. I don’t remember what my Mother's garden looks like. I don’t remember what the sun feels like on my face. And I can’t remember a time when I looked beautiful. My hair grew longer than before. I didn’t like it. A month ago, I was introduced to a new doctor. I never learned his name, I don’t think he ever told me. He acknowledged the fact that my hair has grown and I told him I don’t like it. Not long after, he came back with a pair of scissors and left them for me. Any other doctor would have told me to deal with it. But he trusted me with scissors! It’s against the Asylum rules for an patient/prisoner to use scissors. We could hurt our selves or others (the doctors themselves, probably). I used those scissors to give myself a hair cut. I cut off most of my hair. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. Mother always did my hair for me. When I saw myself in a mirror though, My hair was beautiful. It was so short! So beautiful! I had trimmed it shorter than it ever was and the ends weren’t even. It gave me a sort of edgy and…’spiky’ look. A look that makes me seem…well, crazy. I also have bangs! I imagine that this is what a Pixie’s hair would look like. I'm awfully into fairytales now. I imagine them all the time. Except I can never imagine a prince Charming to rescue me. Oh well!
This new doctor has been around me an awful lot lately. And he looks at me like I might be next for dinner, like he likes me. But other times he looks at me with alarm in his eyes. And I know it isn’t because he is afraid of me or my premonitions. It’s like he is afraid FOR me.
Happy 19th Birthday to me. I have been here almost a year. I don’t write often because there is nothing to write about. I don’t remember what my Mother's garden looks like. I don’t remember what the sun feels like on my face. And I can’t remember a time when I looked beautiful. My hair grew longer than before. I didn’t like it. A month ago, I was introduced to a new doctor. I never learned his name, I don’t think he ever told me. He acknowledged the fact that my hair has grown and I told him I don’t like it. Not long after, he came back with a pair of scissors and left them for me. Any other doctor would have told me to deal with it. But he trusted me with scissors! It’s against the Asylum rules for an patient/prisoner to use scissors. We could hurt our selves or others (the doctors themselves, probably). I used those scissors to give myself a hair cut. I cut off most of my hair. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. Mother always did my hair for me. When I saw myself in a mirror though, My hair was beautiful. It was so short! So beautiful! I had trimmed it shorter than it ever was and the ends weren’t even. It gave me a sort of edgy and…’spiky’ look. A look that makes me seem…well, crazy. I also have bangs! I imagine that this is what a Pixie’s hair would look like. I'm awfully into fairytales now. I imagine them all the time. Except I can never imagine a prince Charming to rescue me. Oh well!
This new doctor has been around me an awful lot lately. And he looks at me like I might be next for dinner, like he likes me. But other times he looks at me with alarm in his eyes. And I know it isn’t because he is afraid of me or my premonitions. It’s like he is afraid FOR me.
