#6

Dear Frances,
Still in this vacant room. I had been lying on this highly unsanitary-looking bed when Satan poked his head in.
And by poked his head in I mean he materialized in.
I sat up from my moping and shoved myself against the wall. He stared at me with those awful, awful eyes again for a while, and I couldn't stop looking in them. I felt like he was stealing my soul away and I had no control over it. But then he stopped and looked around the room, sort of reminiscently. I was panting in fear.
He stared around at the walls for a while, and my fear mounted. He said God's name in vain, then glanced at me. I closed my eyes. He said blasphemy was a big deal these days. I curled up in a ball, trying to force him out. Silence. Then he said he would start training me soon. There was even more silence. I just wanted him to leave me there so badly. If I couldn't leave this Hell hole--actually, Hell, than at least he could. He could leave me to suffer in peace.
I thought he had, so I opened my eyes again, but he was still there, staring at me.
Frances I can't eve describe how soul-crushing it is to look in his eyes. I hate it so much. But once you start you can't stop, and you feel layers of yourself just peeling away. Eventually there will be nothing left.
He started walking toward me and I flinched. He glared at me, which is pretty much the worst thing I've ever experience in my whole life. There's nothing I can compare it to. I could smell him again, and it was like he was growling or something. Then he hit me, really really hard. He said child abuse is also a big deal these days, and then he left.
Since then I have sat in horror, shocked still, on this bed, followed by pacing followed by sobbing followed by angry, maniacal screams. I'm not really a screamer, so this is a big deal. I just screamed and screamed and screamed. I don't feel any better because of it. I returned to sobbing and having nightmares. Or maybe daymares. I don't know. There are no windows. I don't even care. Am seriously contemplating killing myself. Just to get away from this. I hate feeling. I hate it, and I can't stop it and dying would take it all away. But I don't think, that even though I am in the worst situation ever in the whole world, I'm brave enough to do that.
I hate feelings and I hate myself. I hate Satan and and I hate life. This isn't even life any more. Frances. What is going on. Why just why. I can't do this. WHY.