Dear Diary

Today I cried in class. We were assigned to do a ninety second monologue from a play. Mine was from Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman. I studied all weekend and I could barely memorize a paragraph. When it came for my turn to act, I acted out a few stanzas then que’d an audience member to give me a hint for the next line. Then I had to keep having a student give me lines, one at a time, until finally I had to take the paper and read it out loud. I sat down and then realized why I couldn’t memorize such a task. It’s because of my fucking medication. I could feel it in my head. I couldn’t think at all as to what sentence came when. Then a few tears trickled down my face, until finally I burst into tears and fled the room. I talked to my teacher and told him that I was going to find someone with a lighter for a cigarette. I walked to a nearby convenience store and picked up a book of matches. I smoked a cigarette. On my way back, I passed Howard General Hospital and I have flicked it off.

I’m going to Sheppard Pratt today to visit my counselor. And while I’m there, I’m going to talk to my psychiatrist. And I’ll tell him, “Thanks, but no thanks. With this medication, I can’t remember a ninety second monologue at all. Get me off of this shit.”

I also lost another pack of cigarettes today! I think I might as well quit. Oh, about ten minutes ago - I walked up to a cute asian girl in the computer lab of HCC, and passed her note reading, "Hi! I think you're very beautiful. I'm having a bad day and I thought I'd do something, like try to cheer someone up. Take care! Paco"