15.03.1968
Dear Diary,
First of all, how are you? I feel good! Actually, I don’t… I don’t know. I want to tell you a lot of things about what happened today. I started to write all the things about the days that I’ve had at the Institute of Psychology. I talked about the day when McMurphy came to the center. Do you remember that man? He was a freak. I remember that day and I remember every single detail. When I got up, when they shaved me, when I hid in the toilet… Let me give you one example. Did I tell you the memory that I just remembered in the toilet? I can repeat my words in here too:
“Papa tells me that when a bird comes closer, a dog senses that bird somewhere right close. One day papa and I borrowed a pointer dog from a man that I didn’t recognize in The Dalles. Papa says, all the village dogs were mongrels and not classified or qualified. I don’t say anything, but I see a bird up in a scrub cedar. The dog recognized the bird and Papa shoot it.”
Do you see? A worthless dog can do something good. It cannot be so much valuable but it can be a good helper or an assistant. I am not valuable too, but I can be better than what I am now. I feel bigger know, big as a tree. My Papa was really big. He did everything he believed in. That’s why everybody worked on him. The last time I see my father, he was drinking from a bottle. Every time he brought the bottle to his mouth, he didn’t drink the alcohol. The alcohol drank him. I don’t say that he is dead. I don’t say they killed him. They just worked on him and you know who they are. Even the dogs he hit don’t remember my father now. I don’t want to be like my father. I want them to remember me. That’s why I write. Who knows me in this Institution? Nobody…
I put this memory in the notebook that I started to write today. I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I wanted to tell everything I have done that day. I don’t really care… All of the writing that I started today made me really happy for some reason. I wanted to work on something, because I have the time to do whatever I want. I have no job. To write my memories like a book gave me something to work on. Now, I can spend my entire time on this book-notebook thing or something like that. To work on a group of memory makes me think of the old days. Sometimes, I’m getting sad and I remember I miss all of those happy days. Sometimes I notice my mistakes or the good and bad decisions I made. I recognize that I made many mistakes. In fact, I’m regretting now... now. I know that I should change myself. If I can change myself, I can be more valuable. I want to be bigger, brave and innocent. Papa wasn’t innocent, but he was big. That’s why he didn’t die. The people he was disturbing worked on him. I don’t want people to work on me.
Sometimes I think about myself. Have I got any friends? No. Have I got anything to work on? Still no… When I was writing the memories, I wanted to list my friends, but I couldn’t. I don’t talk with people. They cannot understand me as long as I don’t talk with them. I know that I can talk, but I don’t want them to know this. If they knew that I could speak, they would ask me many things about myself. Also if they knew that I am able to hear and understand everything they talk about me, they wouldn’t be talking about myself in front of me and I wouldn’t be able to learn what they think about me. They rarely say bad things concerning me but I cannot react to them because if I react, they will understand that I’m lying. It really hurts to hear something bad about you and not being able to show any reaction.
What can I do, sometimes? I want to change myself, but before this I should think about all the things I can remember. I will continue to write the book-like thing. Papa tells me to keep still, I want to keep still! I am going to do my job. No more regrets and no more pain. I don’t like to remember the old days, but I will remember. Maybe, after I pour all of my memories into the yellowish pages of this book-like thing I will be able to forget them. Who knows?
That was the way I felt today. Take care of yourself.
Goodbye!
Big Chief
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