(August 1, 2000) They say that I should start keeping a journal, and writing my feelings in it. I guess my main question is, who the fuck will read it when I'm dead? I guess the same doctors and nurses who make it their concern to care about me. I've heard people whisper about it, when they think I'm asleep. They wonder how a mother and father could leave their daughter in a hospital and not come by to visit her, they say they'd never leave my side if I was their daughter. I wonder if that's true? Are there really parents out there like that, or do they all just talk about what they would do, and don't know jack, because they aren't in the situation?

Maybe my mom did try once. Maybe she just couldn't take it anymore. I mean, she's pretty young, she wants a life. I guess I shouldn't fault her for wanting to hook up with Roger and have one. He has lots of money and shit, he takes her nice places, does things. She got to go on a cruise. I don't remember my dad, so he doesn't even matter at this point. Though, I do wonder sometimes what he's like. Sometimes, I dream about him, that he's holding me. That's emotional bullshit though. I'm so not telling that to the shrink they have visit me. Come ON, I mean, I'm dying...not psycho. Maybe they think a shrink will help me deal with it better. I can deal with dying. I want them to tell me why I'm dying alone.

(September 10, 2000) Damn. This was a bad month. The bone marrow transplant isn't working. All I can do is puke. I'm so sick of living in this antiseptic prison. Mom came by last night. I guess they told her to come see me cause I was about to die any time. She acted like nothing was any different, brought me some fucking swiss chocolates. That'd be great if I could actually eat them. So mom...how does it feel to know your only child is about to die? Is it a tragedy, or a big fucking relief? I've got to get out of this place. I can't take this anymore. My doctor cried today. My doctor cried, my own fucking mother gave me some Swiss chocolates. I don't want to die with no hair. Oh god.....sick again...

(September 11, 2000) They asked me again if I wanted a chaplain or spiritual 'guide' with me today. I know they're freaked I'm still alive. I don't even know if I believe in God. Has He or She ever been with me during any of this? Maybe if there was a god, my dad would have stayed around....or my mom would have given a shit. I mean, I'm not so self centered as to say I shouldn't have gotten sick..much better people have suffered and died, but...is it too much to ask for ONE person in my life to give a damn? It'd be kinda cool to hit 19 before I kicked it. It's not going to happen though. I think I'm almost three weeks past when they thought I'd die already. My nurses are calling me Bliss "Iron Will" Stevens. That's kinda cool. Wanda said she'd pit me against Tyson. I told her Tyson was a little bitch, hehe. I need to go to sleep now.....

(September 12, 2000) I'm about to die..... I could die tonight....right now. I can't handle this. I can't handle the look in Wanda's eyes when she comes in to check on me. I can't fucking handle seeing my doctor get tears in his eyes any more. I can't handle them feeling all sorry for me because my mother isn't around. I've got to get out of here. I'm not going to die in this place. These places were made for people to get better in, not to die in. No one should have to die like this.

(September 14, 2000) I'm going to die tonight....in this alley. I was mugged by some crack fiend or something last night. I don't know. At least he didn't rape me. I guess I'm too ugly for that. Leukemia did something good for me finally. He took my cash, and my jewelry. He even stole my fucking pen. I'm writing my last entry, with a pen I found in an alley. I should have something profound to say, and I'm sitting here wondering whose pen it is. It's kind of a nice pen. Maybe some rich person that went into this club. I saw limos, and a cool viper out there in the parking lot. I drove a couple times...once when my doctor snuck me out of the hospital and took me skating. He was a good doctor. I bet most don't do stuff like that.

Okay, what do I want to say before I die? Some person is gonna call the cops tommorrow when they find me here. I hope I don't give them nightmares or something. Alright....what do I say here? I'm feeling too sick to think. I hate that. It's one thing to hurt, or feel sick, but I hate not being able to think.

My name is Bliss Autumn Stevens. You can reach my mom, Sylvia Renee Myers at (922) 555-1317. You can charge all my cremation expenses to Roger Myers. (Love ya Roger!) I don't really have anything to give away. I mean, I have some things in my room, if mom's left them in there, but nothing that means alot. I guess what means the most to me right now, is this journal. So, I, Bliss Autumn Stevens, hereby bequeath this journal to the medical staff at Saint Joseph's Children's Hospital, since they have been my mom, and my dad, and my friends...for as long as I can remember. And since they let me stay there, even when I was pretty much too old to stay. Thanks for arguing with the board that I'm technically not full grown at eighteen. I love you guys.

What do I have to say to the world? I don't know. I guess.....life is what you make of it. We all get dealt rough hands sometimes. I could be all mad at people right now, or...mad at god, if there is one. But, I'm not. I did my best, I tried not to go around with a chip on my shoulder. The world isn't as shitty of a place as people think it is, except for when you get mugged in an alley, it feels pretty shitty then.. Everyone gets so down on life, and society in general, and all I can say is..... I've been sick most of it, and there's always been someone around to smile at me, and there were people to hold my hand when it hurt really bad. Maybe my own mom and dad weren't there, but I still wasn't alone. So, if people who aren't even related to me care, then the world can't be as shitty as people say it is.

Alot of you that harp about it, have really good lives. You have lots of money, you're healthy, but you're all filled with angst and wallow around in your depression. Maybe if you had to deal with leukemia, and face losing your life every day...you'd appreciate the world more. Get your ass out there and do all the stuff I wanted to do, and couldn't. Go dancing, go ice skating. Listen to lots of music, learn how to make things. Help people. If you can't bring yourself to do any of that, go down to the children's hospital, and spend some time with a sick kid. They'll make you snap out of it. If you can look in the eyes of a little kid with cancer, who's laughing and having fun, and still feel sorry for yourself...then you ARE a fucking loser.

My fingers are numb, it's hard to write. I can't think of any great thing to say anyways. I kinda wish I could write a song, or poem, but I'm not talented like that. Bye journal...oh....and thanks Dr. Bradshaw, you're not bad for a shrink. :) If there's a god, I'll see you guys later.......thanks for being there.