**_April 19th, 1993

_** Dear Diary, today we had a play go on in our auditorium. The mice danced around people in a circle, like a marching band. I can only remember the people as distorted, and blurry. The all looked normal, until you saw their maybe happy face. It looked like they smiled, but I couldn’t see it. The sound was like click-clack, and the people were laughing I think. The only thing I didn’t like was the mean teachers in khaki pants. They would snarl and point you out with their looks. The small mice feared them as well, but the kids I think couldn’t see them. I was sat next to my friend, a teacher, and the rest of the room was blank. I ate a lot of yellow pebbles, fluffy fur, and differently shaded mini circles. I had a grand time in the auditorium, one of my favorite memories I might ever have. Well that’s all for today. I don’t like the name “Diary,” its overused. I’m going to use the name Mouse. Bye Mouse, and bye if you’re reading this.

Sincerely, Jace Sebrah

Overall Feeling of the day : Happy

**_May 30th, 1993

_**Dear Mouse, today we had to stay in our rooms. I was bored, and walked around my little space. My new notebook I bought was filled with doodles and drawings. I laid down in my bed at least 20 times. My head felt like it was spinning, and twisting the world. I’m not sure if I was dreaming, or if everyone was going crazy. I saw people walking past, maybe they didn’t? I saw guards and nurses and patients being shoved out their little cells. I wished there was something to do here that’s not writing, or drawing. I kept on reading and repeating the guard names in my head like Bryan, Bob, Billy, or maybe I was going insane. It’s like all they’re names start with a “B”. I felt like climbing the walls. I wish I could go back to the auditorium. Bye Mouse, and bye if you’re reading this.

Sincerely, Jace Sebrah

Overall Feeling of the day: Lonely

**_June 5th, 1993

** Dear Mouse**, _**today was a bit sad. A lot of people passed away because of a disease. I don’t remember what the name was, but it was affecting many people here. I hope I don’t get it. That’s all for today. Bye Mouse, and bye whoever’s reading.

Sincerely, _ Jace Sebrah_

Overall Feeling of the day: Sad

Goodbye Mouse

Goodbye whoever’s reading this

Today is the day I have gotten sick, and might die. I feel weak in my bones, and it takes long to write. I’m very sorry for leaving you guys like this. I hope to see you again, goodbye.

Sincerely, Jace Sebrah

Overall Feeling of the day: I’m sorry.

________________________________________

** HELLO**

Let’s be for real here

Am I probably going to do a part 2 of this or something, yes.

Am I also too lazy, yes.

22nd December

“ Ooh, my child! I’ll give them all I’ve got from now on….you’re home, home by Christmas…..” Stupid words that I’ll never hear, these aren’t my mother’s words.

    They have never paid for children like me.
   
       I wasn’t alone today.

Today I saw another patient. He was of the same age as me. He was lost, desperately trying not to break down.

He told me what it’s like to be unlucky, but I already knew. Still, I wanted him to see the light at the end of it all. And so I did.

   He couldn’t imagine life in any other way. 

  He told me freedom is not possible. He got used to how things are. 

23rd December

Still, it isn’t that bad. He got out of the hospital today. His parents couldn’t care more of their child.

There was definitely something off. He put on the sad face and asked me about my next days. Won’t I be home by Christmas? With my loved ones?

          I will. But not tomorrow. 

Even though after awakening it will feel like tomorrow. Just a few hours away. From them. After all, I know for sure. I will be home by Christmas.

PENNY

Day 1

Thomas Meers Is still in my mind And my ear is still in shambles

My parents have put me in a cage A white, white cage. They say it’s for my own good.

No, no Not for my own good For theirs

The sane think We are bad That we are a stain on life

But no, They don’t know They don’t know

Day 7

The sane feed me Through a little hatch On the door

Everything is white They give me white trays White papers

The only thing of color Are the crayons They give me

I never was good at drawing But I draw I draw the monster in my mind

Day ???

I’ve lost track of the days I’m sorry I’m sorry

I’ve drawn many pictures now One of Thomas One of the angel man—I hate him

I’m scared What if they find me What if they find me???

They won’t find me They won’t They must’ve forgotten about me

Yes Yes Yes

I’ve stopped putting the days Why do it when I don’t know The sense isn’t clicking

The sane give me books now Books to read To pass the time

I never hear their voices I never hear their names I’m not quite sure I’m alive

Is this hell? Or is this heaven with a price? I hope they don’t find me

I’m out They found me There’s more of them

Four Four now Thomas, Angel Man, God, Follower

And two more now After we hopped into the van Click and Twitch

Why couldn’t they keep me there? I know think that that Was my heaven

Now I am in hell And no There are no Penny’s for my troubles

Because I’m right here

No No No No No No No

_(You know, I think Penny is the hardest because she isn’t really bad, but she’s more like Aubrey [Twitch is what Penny calls her] in a sense, but not. _

_Penny used to like to kill, but then she met Thomas—I did write about that—and he bit her ear off for leaving Holland to die. She’s afraid of Thomas and the idea of killing again mostly because she believes that if she kills again, he’ll find her. Uhm…you see how that worked out. They found her in the asylum anyway. _🙃

Anyways, I love this series and thank you all—mostly Miss Katie Lyn—for reading! I know it’s kind of a peculiar topic to say the least. Have a great day! ❤️)

October 8th, 2007.

Respiratory Rate: 25 Heart Rate: 103

^ignore that

Note to self: green is your color

My nurse brought me a new movie to watch. I still use that portable DVD player he got me for Christmas. I think I wrote about that already, I don’t know. Anyway, the movie is O Brother, Where Art Thou?

I’m sure Jeremy will read this when I’m gone. Hi Jeremy, I love you terribly. Don’t check my search history.

Dear Diary,

Sun snuck through the blinds this morning, painting stripes on my bedspread like always. Except, usual mornings meant racing downstairs for breakfast with enough time to catch the bus with trinity. Now, the quiet sunshine just makes the hollowness of the day feel bigger.

School. I miss it, the sound of chattering friends and the smell of old text books. Honestly, I even miss the disgusting lunch food. At least I could hold food down back then. But a selfish part of me is glad I can't go anymore. Remember when Jessica told everyone I had a cootie-catching disease in second grade? Now, with my hair gone and this weird machine next to my bed, I know it would be a million times worse. Everybody would really think I was a freak if they could see me now.

The worst part is feeling like a stranger in my own body. Putting on clothes used to be fun, picking out the perfect outfit for the day. Today, even my favorite pajamas felt like oversized sacks, and my legs wouldn't cooperate when I tried to get dressed. Breakfast was even harder. Toast tasted like cardboard, and every sip of juice felt like sandpaper on my throat. But I took small bites, tiny victories for Dad, who sat across from me, his eyes filled with a sadness I can't seem to chase away. I hate that I cause my parents so much pain and sadness. They’re always praying, hoping I’ll get better someday. I don’t have the heart to tell them that I don’t think I ever will.

The day melted into a blur of medicine, needles, and forced naps. I used to dream of being a vet, my days filled with furry friends and the happy sounds of puppy dogs barking. Now, the most excitement I get is a butterfly that flits past my window for a second. But she never stays for very long.

Sometimes, a heavy feeling washes over me, like a storm cloud squeezing the air out of my chest. Today, it came hard, stealing my breath. But then, my eyes fell on the jar beside my bed, the one Trinity gave me. Remember, Trin? My big sis, with her messy bun and laugh that could light up a room. She told me whenever I felt sad, to write down a wish, fold it into a tiny star, and whisper it inside. She promised that someday, they would all come true. Tonight, my wish is to fly away with the birds. To soar above the clouds, a free spirit without a care in the world. It may seem silly, but I know there has to be more than this out there somewhere.

Gotta go, Diary. I need to fold this page into a perfect little star and whisper my wish before I forget.

Maybe tomorrow, I'll wish to be a vet again.

Love Always, Sadie

Today is my last day. I’m writing this to my family. Thank you all. I will miss you. You were my pride and joy. I love you all. So much… I’m surprisingly calm about this. Today is my last day to live. Which also means the pain is over. The pain. The pain. The pain. The pain. It will all be over. I’m praying that ghosts are real. Or the afterlife. Anything. Praying on anything. I hope I’m not just in the ground. At my funeral. Don’t cry. Be happy. My pain. It’s over… Goodbye universe.

I know I’m going to die soon. I heard the nurses talking to my parents when they thought I wouldn’t hear. I like to eavesdrop. I sometimes pretend to be asleep or I stuff pillows under my sheets, so it looks like I’m in it. They must not know ‘cause I know everything they say about me. Everyone here thinks I’m naive because I’m their “youngest patient,” but they’d be surprised to know they’re wrong. I kinda don’t want to tell them because how else will I know anything? My parents don’t like to tell me things. My mom acts like nothing is wrong, and my dad just buys me things without saying a word. But I know they’re worried. I hear my mom sobbing sometimes in the bathroom. Her swollen, red eyes are hard to miss too. I feel like my dad genuinely thinks I don’t notice how forced he acts to be fine, but I notice. I don’t say anything because then I’ll have to console them. It’s not like I mind, but if I tell them I know, things are going to change. I won’t know as much. They’ll become more secretive with their emotions. The doctors tell me I’ll be here for one more week, then I’ll be able to go home. But I know they’re lying. They act like I don’t know what hospice means. I wish I could tell everyone to stop acting, to be real with me. I just want to yell at the top of my lungs, “I know the truth!” It’s like we’re all in a play, acting our parts, and if one person slips up, they’re cut. But I keep silent and proceed to play as the “kid” protagonist on the verge of death.

I heard someone getting yelled at outside my room. They said, “why are you telling her that?” I like to imagine whoever said that was talking about me, that they’re on my side. If my parents were around to hear that, they’d give some excuse about how people change when they’re old. I’d act like that makes sense, then we’d sit in silence while the TV would drown out the awkwardness.

P.S. My mom read my journal. I should’ve known since she was acting weirder than usual. I tried to write when no one was looking, but I guess I wasn’t being sneaky enough. She said she didn’t mean to read it, that she only read the line that I knew I would die and knew they lied about it. She apologized profusely for treating me like I’m clueless. I told her I didn’t care that I was dying, but I hated everyone treating me like I’m not. She told me that would change. I hope she’s right. I asked her to tell me when I was going to die. She cried more. I don’t think she ever answered me, but I can assume it’s soon.

P.P.S. We’re going on a trip together. I told them I wanted to die outside of the hospital or our home, so we’re going to the beach. They said no one goes there because of all the deaths that occured. There’s even police tape still tied around the trees. But I don’t care. Maybe then my legacy will be dying on a forbidden beach. What a story.

Hope is a feverish disease, and I am sick with it. I find myself incessantly yearning for another day, another hour, another fleeting moment, as if the mere extension of existence could cure the ailment that is life. But that is never enough, as to hope for more time is to yearn for an escape from the abyss, yet the abyss stares back, unyielding.

In the chaos of what is my mind, I imagine what I could accomplish with more time, and that makes me realize how terribly, terribly terrified of death I am. Have I not traversed the path of a life worthy of retrospect? Is this all I shall come to be?

When the cruel jest of hope relinquishes its grip, I find solace in yearning for a swift demise. Such is the paradox—the morbid fascination with a demise I fear so deeply.

I am drunk on the idea that death won’t catch up—but it always does. I suppose that is the beautiful thing about it, though. The dregs and kings of society all take their turn dancing with death, and so will I.

Goodbye, and may death take my worries along with it.

I was told I’m not going to live to see my 23 birthday. Might as well leave something behind.

Yesterday I was told I have a rare for if cancer that is immune to all forms of radiation and chemo.

I just went in for a damn check up! And this is what I get?!

I want to say that “this could be worst” but how worst could it possibly get when I have months to live and I know what will kill me in the end.

Screw school. Screw doctors. I have months left in this life of mine. Let me see the world! Experience things I thought I would have a lifetime for in a few months.

That’s how this is going to work. Live like there’s no tomorrow (because who know, they’re might not be) and love while I can.

{Mom and Dad, I love you so much. Thank you for all that you’ve done for me to support me.}

Dear Diary, I know this wiil be my last day. I can”t say how I know this. It has to do with my intuition and serendipitous nature.

What i write will surprise those who read this page in my diary. Please know that I’m ready to depart. I can’t tell you where i am going., but a dream prepared me. Years ago I was asleep when I received a visit from my Aunt Hazel, who died from myasthenia gravis. i woke and saw Hazel suspended over me with a lighted tiara about her head and a glorious gown with dozens of jew

While she lie above me,neither of us spoke I i I only met her once when I was three yesrs old. In tiime I went back to sleep. When I woke the next morning I knew she had left me the gift of joy and strength. After a severe bout with agoraphobis, my depression and fear left, Rejoicing, I laughed and sang all day long.

I spent the day celebrating. i couldn’t stop thinking about Hazel; I had no doubts the dream was real. Hazel was my mother’s sister who died of myssthenis Gravis. Her I was with multipke sclerosis. Although no one had ever called me an angrel, Propkr said Hazel waa angel.

That night after i had gone to bed, a happier, more generous person,the phone rang at three in the morning. I froze, believing this would be a disaster --a death? My slighly older sister was on the other end delivering the grave news. Our other sister,Terre,had been killes in a freak accident and died instantly. A cattle truck was stopped on a bridge and there were no flares to warn her. Terre wa. But, Amazingly, i felt strong, as though i could reach out to the mourning. A few days lates our older sister who had been like a mother to me.

I spent the day crying alone at the park. A few days later , my sister and I flew to Califonia for Terre’s funeral. The experience was bittersweet. I lost Terre but I had received a gift that convinced me, there is a besutiful life that follows and now i am prepared to take that journey, i open my arms and embrace the mysteries and miracles to be found in another life.