Oh God, oh God oh God this is bad, it's even....aagghh it's burning my veins..agghh...I can't breathe....can't see...Let's see, I've got to, got to keep onto my thoughts, keep control of them....Got to stand, or sit, but not throw up...Yea, I've got it, got it now, yea, not to, to throw up, not throwing up is, is-nope, gotta resist the temptation to-to-no, no, aim for the bowl Gwen, not the floor-ok that, that's good the nurse is-is helping, ok take the bowl, Gwen, and retch in there, yea that, that's a good idea, a bad idea, to not aim, for the, bowl isn't...it...huh, the pains...gone...I can actually...see now....I can breathe...veins aren't burning...any more...
Hello. My name is Gwen, and I am fifteen years old. Sorry about the start, but...I am a human experiment for drugs. Yea, that's the life of me-been an experiment for as long as I can remember. I only have a few memories of my parents, but not not enough to know if I love or hate them. Sure, I hated them for sending them away, but, who knows, maybe it just wasn't their choice, you know? Anyway, hating them won't bring them back, wherever they are.
The only reason I know why I am what I am is because, apparently, I can take the worst drug and only receive the side effects. Great, I know. The best part? Sicking up the infected black blob that is whatever said drug, cleared out of my system. Best. Fun. Ever. Not.
Anyway, I've only got three more years-just three more years-and I can finally decide whether I want to leave or not. At the moment? Definitely leaving the moment the clock strikes midnight of my eighteenth birthday. Can't wait until I leave this hell hole.
Another reason why I hate it in this facility is because the only people I know are either the doctors and nurses, or my counsellors, all of which are much older than me, so I don't really have that many friends my age-I mean, if you can call these people friends. They're more acquaintances that friends. So I have a fun life. Yay.
The only thing I want is to know my parents had a choice in giving me away, if they loved me, or if they're even alive. As soon as I learnt to write, I tried to send letters, but according to the people around me, they all 'Got lost in the mail.' Yea, right, and I'm the President of the USA.
Anyway. I should probably stop being a right moody adolescent girl, and keep my annoyances to myself.