I wasn't crying. It's only natural to sweat when you play basketball. Even an idiot knows that. I haven't taken my meds yet. Yeah, I know I could die if I don't take them. The doctor said so, the nurse said so, and Mom said so too. But when I take them, I feel like shit. I can't think. The words won't come out. I hate the side effects, too. The red spots still haven't gone away. It's itchy, stained red. It's getting worse. So I took stronger medicine. They said this would make it better, said it wouldn't itch, but my hands won't stop. I've been scratching for thirty years. Those pills make me sleepy. They make me cry. I can't think. I can even hear the sound of electricity flowing, and I see the past and the future. I was sleepy, so I went to bed early. That's why I woke up early, for once. Actually, that's a lie. I stayed up all night. I kept scratching and everyone laughed. Laughter is floating around and sadness is sitting on the sofa. It's none of your business. Bice told me not to take the meds. She said I could endure it. But Loretta said she was scared. She's always been a coward.

My jaw is broken. I can't even eat properly. They told me not to talk. Told me to only eat soup. I'm sick of chicken soup loaded with chicken stock. They say I can't even have a peanut butter sandwich. Told me not to exercise, not to go out alone.

I can't even sleep in anymore. I can't miss the medication time. I used to sleep twelve hours on weekends, but now I can't even get seven. I can't sleep deeply because of the meds anyway. I'm tired. Falling asleep is harder than a math problem. You're asking if I'm bad at math? Exactly, that's how hard it is. I feel sick. I wish I didn't have to eat anything. But I have to eat to take the pills. Otherwise, they say the medicine will ruin my stomach. Not that I care.

I don't want to get up. I keep waking up earlier. I used to naturally wake up after ten, but then it became nine, then eight, then seven, then six, and now I'm awake by four. I didn't use the computer before bed. I was in bed by ten. It's too pathetic to call a bed, but I guess I shouldn't say I don't even have one. I didn't fall asleep for two hours. Maybe three. Or four. And then I wake up two hours later and can't get back to sleep. I just lie there. Doing nothing.

It's vacation. I don't have to go to school. There are plenty of chances to sleep. I don't want to see anyone. As long as you don't come over like an idiot, I can just reject everything else. I'm not going to eat anything. I'll have to take the meds, though. Even if the medicine ruins me, I won't eat food. I feel nauseous. I'm going to dump that damn chicken soup down the toilet. Should I throw the meds away too? They said the ones in the blue cap make you sleepy—maybe if I take them all at once, I can finally sleep. It's not like a sleeping pill, just something to help me not collapse. It's not that I'm weak. I can hike mountains and play basketball. The reason I'm sick? The doctor said he doesn't know the cause. But I know. I'm not telling you, though. A dummy like you doesn't need to know. I have to take my meds. Can't I just skip them today? Actually, I want to never take them again.