Dear Diary, I killed Phlegm: the rat bastard was using heroin behind my back! I'm still living in the shitty house without a job or money. At least he had the decency to buy us fresh food before he met his demise. I wonder if my mother's totally distraught over me; she didn't really seem to care either way. I should call her.
I went out to get a baby rabbit today and nailed it to the wall in a fit of madness. Why? I don't know! Diary, you're the only place where I can really be sane. I suppose that's why I killed the damned thing; it's the other object that represents the sane side of me, besides you. Christ, it's like there's another insane teenager living here! I really need to get help, but my body doesn't want to go out. I've become a slave to my own mind and there's no way out.