Disease is rife.

Tunes in my head: Gog Magog (In Bromine Chambers) by Peter Hammill

I have no interest in being inside this hellhole anymore. I'm surrounded by abuse. And it's starting to kill me slowly. I can't even get a word out anymore without being yelled at. Without being slowly tortured for another few moments.

Breathing becomes incredibly hard. The smoke closes in. The walls close in. I have no allies. No friends in this place.

And yet escaping is proving harder and harder. I don't feel the motivation to leave my bromine chambers.

How can one human being do this to another? Subject them to decades of abuse without a goddamn care in the world. And yet, this isn't just a human being that was met by chance and that one willingly lets themselves be around. This is a blood bond.

Hahah. Like blood even bonds people. I don't see myself in them.

My family don't live in my house. My family live in libraries, shopping centres and different countries. And so I feel so distant from them. All the time. I just feel so goddamn lonely.

Another yell. Another scream for an innocent comment. The cycle turns around and around.

I intend to break it. In twelve at the latest. I can't live this way anymore. I can't live isolated. This must stop.

And what if it doesn't? Will I end up stapled to a rope, blood trickling down the cold limbs? Or will I be in a cushion-walled room? Or will I be in a frigid environment so far away?

No. That would mean I'd be even more alone.

Be well. I'm not.
Liam