This spiderweb I am stuck in has me wrapped up in your lies

Your secrets are left unspoken; I should pull off your disguise

I am beaten; I am broken; my heart is busted just like glass

Thoughts are racing, my heart is breaking; I trusted way too fast

You crushed my dreams; you broke my soul and now I sit here crying,

all because I loved too much while you weren't even trying.

Chapter One:

Claire was deep in thought as she sat on her thin, padded mattress. She looked down, staring at the journal entry she had no memory of writing.

(-I saw her again today, standing in the doorway of Dr. Winter's office. They think I don't know.)

The handwriting was unmistakably hers—the same looping cursive her aunt had insisted she perfect during those silent afternoons after her parents died. Yet she had no recollection of writing these words or what they meant. The blue ink looked fresh, unlike the black pen she'd used all week.

She ran her fingers over the page, feeling the slight indentations where the pen had pressed. Real, not imagined. Another missing moment. Another piece of herself dissolving into fog.

"It's time for medication, Claire."

She looked up to see Nurse Ellis in the doorway, paper cup in hand. The woman's practiced smile never reached her eyes.

"I don't remember writing this," Claire said, holding up the journal.

Nurse Ellis's expression didn't change as she stepped into the small room. "Memory gaps are a normal side effect of your adjustment period. Dr. Winters mentioned you might experience some disorientation." She extended the cup of pills. "These will help."

Claire stared at the small blue tablet nestled among the familiar white ones. "This is different from yesterday."

"No, it's the same. You've been on this regimen since admission." The nurse's tone remained pleasant but firm. "Perhaps you're experiencing some confusion? That's why it's so important to stay consistent with your medication."

Claire wanted to argue but stopped herself. The last time she'd insisted something had changed—the position of her bed, moved three inches to the left overnight—they'd added another therapy session and noted "increased paranoia" in her chart. She'd seen the words when the clipboard was momentarily left unattended.

She accepted the cup and swallowed the pills under Nurse Ellis's watchful eye.

"Group therapy in twenty minutes," the nurse reminded her before leaving.

The door closed with a soft click that somehow sounded final. Thirty-two days at Oakwood Institute, and Claire still flinched at that sound. Not quite a lock, but not really freedom either.

She returned to the journal, flipping through earlier entries. Most of them, she remembered writing—observations about Oakwood, notes from therapy sessions, and attempts to piece together the breakdown that had led to her voluntary commitment six weeks ago.

*Third session with Dr. Winters today. She keeps asking about my childhood. Seems fixated on whether I ever felt like "part of me was missing." Standard therapy question or something else?*

*Bethany visited. Brought photos from Caitlin's wedding. Strange to see evidence of the outside world continuing without me.*

*Dreams about a basement again. Same shadowy figures. Same music box melody. Dr. Winters says recurring dreams often represent unprocessed trauma. But what trauma?*

But scattered throughout were paragraphs she couldn't recall, all written in blue ink:

*They're watching through the bathroom mirror.*

*Dr. Winters knows about the basement. About us.*

*I need to remember before it's too late.*

Claire closed the journal, a chill settling into her bones despite the overheated air of the institute. Either she was losing time—dissociating and writing notes to herself—or someone else was writing in her journal. Neither possibility was comforting.

Outside her window, the immaculate grounds of Oakwood Institute stretched toward the security fence, the world beyond a distant memory. Claire had checked herself in voluntarily after what her aunt called "the incident," when they'd found her wandering barefoot in the woods behind their house at 3 a.m., covered in dirt and unable to explain how she got there.

"It's just for a few weeks," her aunt had assured her, signing papers in Dr. Winters' office while Claire sat numb and disconnected. "Until they stabilize your medication. You want to get better, don't you?"

But increasingly, Claire wondered if coming here had been her decision at all. The memories felt hazy, implanted, as though someone else had signed the forms.

She tucked the journal under her mattress when the clock showed ten minutes until group therapy. The blue pills were making her thoughts fuzzy already, edges softening. She needed to stay sharp if she was going to figure out what was happening.

---

Group therapy was held in a room with windows overlooking the garden—a calculated reminder of the outside world they were all working toward, Dr. Winters always said. Eight patients arranged in a circle, sharing progress and setbacks while staff members hovered at the edges, taking notes.

Claire took her usual seat between Marcus, a middle-aged man with schizophrenia who rarely spoke, and Delia, an elderly woman being treated for depression following her husband's death. Across from her sat the newest patient, a nervous young man named Tyler who picked constantly at his cuticles until they bled.

"Today we're discussing coping mechanisms," announced Dr. Elliott, who ran the group sessions. Younger than Dr. Winters and seemingly more genuine, he was the only staff member Claire felt marginally comfortable around. "Who would like to share a technique they've found helpful?"

While Delia detailed her journaling routine—Claire felt a pang at the mention—she noticed Marcus watching her with unusual intensity. He rarely made eye contact with anyone.

"You see her too," he whispered so quietly Claire almost missed it.

"What?" she whispered back.

"The other you. Walking when you're sleeping."

Claire's breath caught. Before she could respond, Dr. Elliott called her name.

"Claire? Would you like to share your coping strategies with the group?"

All eyes turned to her. She straightened, composing her features into what she hoped was a normal expression.

"I've been drawing," she said, the prepared answer coming automatically. "It helps organize my thoughts."

Dr. Elliott nodded encouragingly. "Excellent. Art therapy can be very effective for processing difficult emotions."

As attention shifted to the next patient, Claire felt Marcus slip something into her hand beneath the edge of her chair. A folded scrap of paper. She concealed it in her palm, heart racing.

When group ended, she waited until she was alone in the bathroom to unfold it. Inside was a crude drawing of two identical women, one in a patient's clothes, one dressed like staff. Both had Claire's face.

Beneath the drawing, scrawled in shaky handwriting: *They don't want you to know she exists.*

Claire stared at the image, the blue pill fog temporarily cleared by a surge of adrenaline. The strange journal entries. Marcus's whispers about "the other you." The constant sense of missing time.

As she looked up at the bathroom mirror, studying her own reflection, a bizarre thought surfaced—what if her broken mind wasn't the problem? What if someone else was writing in her journal? Someone who looked exactly like her?

Back in her room, Claire made a decision as the medication dragged her toward unwanted sleep. Tonight, she would fight its effects. She would stay awake, wait, and catch whoever—or whatever—was writing those messages.

Because if she wasn't crazy, something far worse was happening at Oakwood Institute.

And if she was crazy... then the woman with her face didn't exist at all.

I feel that life is like a terrifying roller coaster

with all its ups and downs

I miss being a kid riding the spinning tea cups

spinning round and round.

I swim around in life through the depression and the rage

I thought life would be happier atsuch a young age

It's hard to keep on going when you think the cause is lost

People say life is good, but I believe that is false.

530 am. (Beep..Beep..Beep...)I wake up. I walk to the kitchen to get the coffee pot started.

I wait for it to drip, feels like I've been waiting for years at this point. I grab it before it is ready cause I am just so ready for the coffee. I taste it and make a face -OEeeww That tastes so strong its like drinking motor oil. Add suger, thats what I will do. I go sit in my spot on the couch and drink it while watching the News which seems to be more crime, murder, hate, and a sweet little puppy who needs to be adopted... heck when I first saw the poor thing I thought he'd wondered onto the wrong set at the studio. I hope someone adopts him, he is so cute and cuddly. I continue to watch TV for a couple of hours, see I have to watch my morning show reruns. I watch Perry Mason, Matlock, and In the Heat of the Night. After that, it's time for me to clean up...yay.....not! I make the kids beds since they forgot to (yeah- they always forget) I wonder why one person (my daughter) needs 13 pillows on their bed? That just straight pisses me off. I move on to my son's room who has a basket full of laundry filled to the top, which I have told him too many times to not wait, to bring them to the laundry room, but, yet again, here we are. I take all the clothes to the washer to start the laundry. I go to make my son's bed but Wux is lying there napping... so I won't disturb him or her.... I believe she is a her cause she is pregnant I think. More cats- YAY. I got one cat from a friend of mine and its the damn gift that just keeps on giving! Kitten after kitten. I remind myself to get in touch with the BIG FIX clinic to get the cats fixed. Plus its disturbing when you walk outside and hear them being r*ped basically. It's disturbing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I make our bed and vacumm the hallways and livingroom. I then sit down and smoke a long needed cigarette and enjoy the last of my coffee as I have now had the whole pot, per usual. I feed the dogs and then may or maynot decide to feed myself. Looking throught the cabinets I can't find anything that makes me want to eat. So, I make a fresh soda drink with ice, go sit down to enjoy Law & Order SVU reruns. I fold laundry during that time very much heated and angry at all the sickos in the world. Angry as hell at the character and empathizing with the victim,while cheering Olivia on and wishing I could be there....I am sure the producers would have loved that, Right? Right. I peek through the blinds for probably about the 1000th time this morning and of course I am exagerating kinda. The highlight of my day is coming soon and I just wait for it. OooohOH! The mailman's here! Yippee, I go outside and walk casual cool to the mailbox like the nerd I am and pick the mail out. Hoping for something good, free stuff, samples, a check, or package. IT IS NOW THE highlight of my day! I know, sad... right. Of course the REAL highlight of the day is when my family comes home. I get to argue with my "grown-up" eleven yr. old daughter over the cat, Wux, that she stole from me...yes, I know its petty and that I am 42 and she is 11, but still she stole my cat! And if you don't believe me you can check that out on TikTok. I get them to finish their homework and their father gets home from working for the City. While i cook supper, he gets showered and cleaned up and we all have supper once it is ready. Afterwards, we clean up and I get the kids to get in the shower and get ready for school the next day. I try to read some of a good book but I have been reading the same damn book for 6 months because I can't go 2 minutes without being called. But I am gonna finish it... one day. Afterwards I hang out with my hubby for a while and we watch a movie, or documentary, or TOP 10 something on YouTube and then LIGHTS OUT......the end.

I walk into the door of my home....HOME, the place I never see anymore.

I throw myself down on the bed...as I sink a little into the covers I breath and try to ignore

all the things I need to do. Seeing the typewritter sitting there makes me feel guilt. I feel that way because I know I need to write, it's my passion, or at least it was, I think, But now everything is about work. Thank God I don't have a fish, cat, or dog- I would be the worst companion for them. Oh, but I do long to have a pet someday. Maybe when my boss has an anti-bah-humbug dream things will change? He is saying that he plans to offer one of us a promotion which starts the petty bullshit at our cubicles. Everyone is either trying to kiss ass, throw someone under the bus (please, let it be me), or they are trying TOO hard(Jenni). Rumors will start, well, they were always going around, just the new rumor that one of us gets to climb the latter to a lesser Hell. How nice. This job is a prize they can keep if you ask me. Ugh- and then there is Johnson. He always tries to compare our performance and scores of our evaluations. SO competitive, yet not very smart. If brains were gasoline HE wouldn't have enough to go half way around an ENGLISH PEA in an ANT'S motorcycle and he would probably stop for directions! My brain is just mush after working this damn job. I am so overworked, I dream about work, and now, as I sit here ..... I write about work.

I day dream of tripping and falling down the stairs just to go home but, I know my luck.... they would do Zoom meetings from the hospital and/or memorial service. They didn't get the memo because I was no longer alive, but there will be someone who eventually will take my place (LORD watch over him or her) this job is grueling, daydream of jumping off a bridge during the meetings and how fun that would be. I guess this is all I have to say about it today. Tomorrow's a whole new day to hate the hell out of your job! Toxic-ass Rumor Mill....... I hear the news come on the TV, I turn it up so that I can hear... what?! HELL- no way !!!! It burnt down!! The place I work at has burned down and I do not know how to feel about it. On the one hand, hell ya, let me help you with the matches, but on the other hand I wanna pour the gasoline, and if there was a third hand I would hope it could be rebuilt....good thing I don't have a second hand. *SMIRK*

NO work tomorrow! Until then... goodnight!!!!!

I wake up early, hungry and alone

With no one to talk to cause I can't pay my phone

The day is so dreadful, it's cold and so long

No one to talk to to tell them what's wrong.

The cabinets are empty, they are so bare

I start to wonder if anyone cares.

When you are unwealthy the days take forever,

You think you can't be me..

But never say never!

Hello, thank you for calling ATT, how can I help you today?

Me: Hi, I am calling to request more time to pay my bill. I recently lost my job and my mother in law was diagnosed with cancer and money is just tight right now. Can you help me with this?

Yes, Ma'am, I am sorry to hear about your situation, but let me tell you about this... we have an iPhone 14 that you can have for just $5.00 a month. It is brand new and you could also get a Samsung Galaxy the newest version for $5.00 also.

Me: Oh wow, Okay, I can do that......

Hanging up the phone as I realize how f***ked I just made myself and still didn't get an extension on the bill! (eyeroll)

I seriously don't understand how you can tell them you are broke and they sell you something anyways.

This is why I procrastinate the heck out of calling Att- TRUE Story

I live in Mississippi. Back in 2002 we were invaded by these horrible looking bugs. They made loud noise and had big wings and just all together freaked me the hell out. I would not leave my house unless I absolutely had to. Friends would pop in and if one got in the door way I would scream bloody murder and have someone get it out. One day one was on my car and I didn't want to get out of my truck and that thing get near me- so my crazy ass gets on the interstate...climbing speeds trying to knock that sucker off with the wind. Did it work? Nope. That thing rode with me through 3 different towns and back. Finally my friends mom just knocked it off like it was nothing. Another night during this nightmarish event we stopped at the Bowling Alley to speak to the on duty cop that was working. He walked up to the car and they were crawling all over him and he was just OK with it...mean while I screamed for my friend to roll the window up. I had a diary at the time and drew pictures of my hatred for these things. I was terrified. Finally, one night, I was getting ready to go out and one landed on me. I started screaming, ripping my clothes off out in my front yard, tumbled down the hill and was so stressed I started my period right then. LOL After that, they slowly started to go away...but they will be back- AND I WILL NOT BE ready. Just saying.....

My grin is so wide and I laugh at your jokes

You would never know inside that I feel so broke.

Dancing and singing, and having such fun

But inside I feel like I need to run

I put on a brave face for all of my fam

but my heart and my soul feel so damned.

You say I am happy, funny, and not shy

but inside I feel that I should just die.

I feel that life is like a terrifying roller coaster

with all its ups and downs

I miss being a kid riding the spinning tea cups

spinning round and round.

I swim around in life through the depression and the stress

only to find myself drowning in a pool of all this mess.

It's hard to keep on going when you think the cause is lost

People say life is good, but I believe that is false.