September (Undated Entry 3), 2022

There's shit in the bathroom. I just know it. I got the local prison guy w/ an ankle monitor as my roommate in my last room. He seemed like a chaotic guy to be around, but a fun kind of chaotic. So, when a nurse asked me if he could room with me because he's complained about various other roommates snoring, I said "Sure!" hesitantly. I liked having a soft bed an no roommate. I liked being alone. I should've kept it like that. First night was fine, he moved in and we just stayed up talking and joking. But on the second night, he didn't take his medication. So he was more erratic than usual.

First, he just joked a lot. Then he complained about a quiet, subtle sound we later discovered was the heater. I liked the heater, but agreed because he already seemed mentally derailed. We ended up walking the halls for a bit before deciding to just sleep out there; which was bearable, but the nurses knew I was just along for the ride on this increasingly unstable crazy train.

Eventually the room went cold and quiet. So he went back in, leaving an explosive fart in the doorway. Thus, I stayed in the chair by the phone, resting my head in my arms on the ledge. I honestly considered sleeping there but my soft bed was too tempting, and he seemed asleep. I was wrong. The moment I had my eyes closed he started joking again. I went with it and continued trying to sleep.

Then he told me he was [redacted] under the sheets. I was in disbelief and told him to stop. I tried to ignore it and sleep, but then [redacted].

I got up and threw a(n) [redacted].

"You know what? Fuck this. I'm not going to put up with that shit!" I said enraged. I storm out of the room and to the nurses "You gotta get me another roommate! I'm not putting up with this!" They asked what he was doing. I told them. They were in disbelief and listed a few quirks of available roommates. I chose the most bearable and they moved me with all my things, during which he pretended to be asleep.

I end up on a hard mattress w/ a hippie lookin, bible lovin' dude who slept upside down in his bed with the lights on. But he left me alone, I got the little sleep I could. The next day, I was exhausted and talked about it in a group my previous roommate didn't attend. Then at lunch after avoiding me all day, he walks up to me while I'm eating and stares me down. I stare right back at him, I wasn't afraid of him. "I'm listening." he warns.

"Alright." I reply nonchalant.

"Alright." He parrots.

He leaves. I finish eating and walk out, looking at him waiting by the door. I say "Hey (name)" casually. Turn my back in the crowd and calmly put my tray away. I looked calm, but my heart was racing. I knew the danger. I start to walk back to my room. He starts circling round to it, but I get to it first [we're not allowed in each others rooms]. He starts circling around outside my door like a shark, repeating words to a rap over and over quietly.

I grab a book and read. I couldn't keep this up for four more days though. A while after he left, I try to make shank out of a toothbrush, but the damn thing was just too bendy. So instead I decided to carry the most underrated weapon ever:

A hardcover book.

It wasn't a textbook, it was a scrawny little thing, but it was hard enough (specially the sharp corners) to give a solid bash. Plus it could catch a knife if I needed to disarm.

So I walked to the dark TV lounge area with my book where few people were. The small audience included my new roommate, who had a mild gruff homeless look I hadn't noticed before. I sat in a corner and waited. When my previous roommate, came around I called him over and offered to talk it out. The ex-con/ hockey player reached into his pocket and said he didn't want to talk it out. Then walked away.

I follow him up until we get to the nurses desk, which was unfortunately vacant of nurses. But the ex-roommate's bestfriend, a behemoth the size of hall was. I was on his good side. I asked him to talk to the guy. He was too scared to. I kept explaining it wasn't personal, that I just needed sleep. All-the-while, he's walking by within earshot. Another patient, a lady who was native to the area walks up and the conversation turns casual. I keep trying to steer it back, explaining a fight would be catastrophic for everyone.

Another woman, who was suffering from paranoia, asks what I'm talking about from the end of the hall. I start to walk up to her to explain, but she warns me not to take another step. I stop. The native woman and the big man ask the paranoid "why?" They all begin to argue. The native lady explains she doesn't want to argue. Meanwhile, my previous roommate takes the opportunity to walk into the group, asking the native lady what's going on. She explains. I take the opportunity to explain it wasn't personal. Then the native lady asks what's going on, interrupting the conversation "can you two just squash this?" telling us to shake hands. He says he's not shaking my hand, then he half-heartedly says we're good.

The group talks a bit and jokes about how everyone was on edge. Everybody laughs, and I explain again. Only this time I get a chance to say my full piece. This time he says we're genuinely good with a smile, offering out his hand. I don't know what to think. I take his hand and he pulls his shiv out of his pocket and shoves it into my stomach a few times before I fall to the floor, leaving a pool of blood. Or so imagined would happen as I stood there, unsure of how to read the gesture. His hand's not in his shiv pocket. I take his hand. I go on to tell him about how he could make our old room better suited for his bad back. The rest of the night is light hearted.

He seems needy for my attention. He still makes me uncomfortable, but I give him the bare minimum to keep the peace. At least I'm trying to. The whole thing stemmed from a misunderstanding. I had reflected on lessons learned and asked, "how is this not about me?". He was insecure about [redacted] was what I gathered from conversations and interactions. I put the book I had been carrying for defense back on the shelf in my room.

That book was "Nasty People" by Jay (something). I had talked with Jay [Jay was THE doctor who pretty much ran things from what I could tell] prior to this. What brought me here came up. He handed me that book. It was about conflict resolution.

Some other repressed stuff about how being tossed between Mom and Dad's houses when I was a kid was also discovered, which explains a lot actually.

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DISCLAIMER: Some entries have been censored and edited out of respect for both my, and others personal lives as well as for clarity. These are all true journal entries, starting from when I was given the journal in a rehabilitation hospital, none of which will be released to the public until weeks or months after being written. At any given point, they may be taken down for a plethora of reasons.