Ocean Veiw Juvenile Psychiatric Ward - Sporks are considered Sharps. Login to Kupika  or  Create a new account 
 

This diary entry is written by ‹B r o f i s t ♥ Shanaynay!›. ( View all entries )
 
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Ocean Veiw Juvenile Psychiatric Ward - Sporks are considered Sharps.Category: OVJPW
Monday, 2 March 2009
01:24:00 PM (GMT)

   After getting up to get 'food' Argyle, Darren and I started talking about ways
to find sharps. Darren wanted more cuts, Argyle wanted to stab her nurse and quite
frankly I'd like a tattoo. I found a needle in the library once, and I keep it in my
journal. Its stuck under the sticky white paper part in the front so no one can see
it there. I have four tattoo's from that needle - A star on my ankle, An X on my
stomach, "I am the Mastermind," on my left wrist, And checkers on my Right wrist. I
can only do it when I can get hold to a pen though. the one I had ran out of ink. My
head kind of hurt, but that was probably from the lack of sleep and food. I glared
down at the questionable gunk on my plate and frowned, poking it with a spoon. OH
JESUS EW. It's slippery and green and it stinks. I'm not eating it. I looked up at
poor Darren gnawing on his hand. Poor kid must have gone a week without eating.
Everyone here did. All I'd consume was coffee my therapist would save for me, and
sour gummy worms. The bell rang, admitting everyone to head to their Therapist.
Mine's name was Dr. FishBaul. He was short and fat and he had grubby little arms and
legs, and he constantly sniffed the air around him like a mole. He had a pointy nose,
and he was squinty, So I wouldn't have doubted it if he actually were a mole man. I
said my goodbyes to Darren and Argyle and headed to room 382, Dr. FishBaul's room. He
was leaning over his desk mumbling to himself about something I probably wouldn't
have cared much about, So I just sat down on the cushy chair thing he made me lay on
when he talked to me. It was supposed to make me calm or some shit, Because he thinks
I have OCD, Which I probably do. I twitched in thought and watched him write. "Uhh,
Fishy?" I spoke up, scratching my cheek. He looked up, with a crack. His neck pops a
lot. I made a disgruntled face and wriggled slightly. "I'm ready for our 6:30
session." He giggled. That man was graunchier than Madonna. 
Last edited: 3 March 2009


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