I’m writing, but I’m not writing how I really feel most of the times. I’m afraid that someone will read it and use it against me. That is the control I allowed “these people” to have over me. Then why do I continue to write? Maybe it’s because I want to record something for memory. Maybe it’s a ritual that helps me past my time. Maybe I just want to act like I’m writing something important. I realized how much we live in lies all the time. Everything can be distorted. Truth could be lies and good could be bad.

My neighbor shared with me what he believes. It’s something I never knew. How much of what he wrote was the truth? I also got him to write down all the different medications people ingest here. I will write about it.

There was fog line so we went to the yard late at around 9:30. It was a beautiful day. It was warm with the sun. I felt sucked up after taking my clothes off. C and I did a quick workout. I was pumped. I wish I could be out there longer.

T hooked up a spread at night. It’s cool. I will eat the leftover in the morning.

I wrote to KW and told him about my writes and what I want from him. I don’t like the way he’s handling my case. I may have to fire him. I’ll wait and see what’s best for me.

I didn’t study. I wanted to, but I couldn’t get motivated. I goofed around and the day is over. I started reading a mystery thriller book. I talked to R about P’s work and my goals to help youth.

I was hoping for a visit, but no luck. I don’t’ feel attach to too many things and people these days. I can do another 10 years in the pen, but my parents can’t. That’s why I want to  push to go home this year. I want to and I’m going to go home this year.

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