#?

There's some blood on the wall. It's not mine, I think. It's too dark to be blood, honestly.

My fucking landlord, man. I keep telling him there's mold on here and he won't listen. You ever feel like your lungs are getting stabbed?

Part of me thinks its not blood, or mold. There's a few trace memories in my brain, I just can't seem to dig them out. With enough time, maybe?

My new therapist is a total hippie. Believes in past lives and all that shit. Won't go next session. New one is pretty chill, I guess. Told me to make a diary so I might as well just make it a website while at it, I suck at HTML so it would be useful.

Head hurts like hell. Gonna take a Tylenol and pass out now.

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