I have been here for 73 days now. My head no longer spins and my thoughts are comparatively cohesive. The constant reflection of my image is slowly breaking me, destroying what I think of as my sanity. On day 58, this journal appeared in the center of the concrete floor, a foreign object in my already alien surroundings, along with a small sharpened stick of charcoal.
I first noticed these objects while in the peak of my illness, agony searing through my body in sharp waves. In those days, I lived in my mind, on a black, sandy shore, with waves of fire washing over me. Occasionally, I would find spaces of conscious thought, like brightly colored gems in the bleak black sand.
I awoke (today? tonight?) to my own haunted reflection staring back at me from those maddening mirrors. I am scared of this illusory room and it's mirrors. However, I'm more terrified of what I could eventually find staring back.
I have to go. Somethings wrong.
Спасибо за чтение!