January 30, 2009 

   I woke up and stared at the once white wall ahead of me and counted the marks. Counting those wretched black marks were part of my essential daily life and I did to keep me calm. To keep me from losing my mind, not that I ever did anyways.

I count those marks to know.To know how long I have been stuck in this building. To know how long I have lasted without knowing a thing about myself or how I got here. One hundred and fifty. One hundred and fifty marks. One hundred and fifty days I have been in this white jail.

This piece of crap is what I wake up to everyday and I think to myself every time, when will this hell end? When will I be able to go back home? Now that I think of it, do they even miss me? I haven’t gotten any visits from any of them in the six months I’ve been here.

Maybe they’re all just busy with work. I mean, my dad is the CEO for one of the biggest clothing companies in America and my mom works with him. My older brother doesn’t care about me anyways. He's probably out there somewhere in Korea drunk, and ing some girl he found at a club.

Everyone around me thinks I’ve gone crazy, but I haven’t. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy and he tells me that every day and every time the "doctors" talk about my "mental issue" and that I "see things that aren’t real".

He saved me. He is always there for me and he is probably there for me more than my family ever was and ever will be even though he only comes about an hour each day. Every day at exactly 3:00 pm is what I wake up for.

That exact time is what I long for every morning so I could see him. Only him. He is the only person on this wretched hell that makes me feel at peace, but every day, exactly one hour later, he leaves.

He disappears somehow. I never want him to leave but I can’t stop him either. I always think of ways to have him stay at least another hour so I won’t be alone but no matter how hard I try, it never works. Exactly one hour later he tells me he has to go. He leaves and doesn’t come back until the next day at the usual time. When he tells me he has to leave I can’t  stop him.

No matter how much I want to scream out to him not to leave me alone, not to go and take me with him, away from this hell, nothing comes out. Something is stopping me from saying anything to him and it kills me. When he is here I feel safe. I feel as if there is nothing in this world that can harm me but once he 

leaves, it’s all cold.