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I don't remember anything, but I remember very little of it. Isn't it strange to live a whole life and not have any memories? I'm lying in a hospital bed here; I have no memory of how I got here. There is no one in the room; the door is closed. I'm screaming for help, and no one is answering. There is a small table next to me, the operating table, but there is no equipment or medical device. 

A bright white light is shining above me, a closed window with a blue curtain to my right. There is light on the other side of the window, but it is not reaching me. I noticed that my right ankle was tied to the bed. I saw that the bed was immobile and the nails were stuck in the ground. Even after trying, I can't open it; I don't know which floor I'm on or which hospital it is.

I pulled out an empty spiral notepad; a ballpoint pen was in the spiral. Instead of using clips to attach to the paper, I was surprised to find that I preferred to keep the pen inside the loop. I guess that's what I was doing, which makes me believe I didn't put it here. I moved the notepad and pen from my left hand to my right hand. I clicked the pen, took out the ballpoint pen and set the ink on the paper. My joy works at that time. I first write the word "today".

 I sat up and put the notepad on my lap. I started writing a letter. I don't know if anyone will read it. The next day I feel like I must have fallen asleep. I've been drugged, but I have no syringe marks on my arm, no signs to indicate that anything has been inserted, and no way to tell if anyone is inside the room. To the room's right, right next to the window, is a television, an old television. It had never been here before. I used to look out the window, but the tv was not there before. The TV is not on, and there is no remote to turn it on. But it bothered me. Why would anyone suddenly put this TV here?

 Of course, no matter how deep I sleep, I can hear the sound of activity. It took me back to my assumption that I was addicted; I was addicted. Why have I been warned about a word or audience presence? 

On the second day, Outside sunlight, I could tell by looking out the window. I would not sleep despite my best efforts, but I fell asleep. I curse myself, but there seems to be nothing new in the house. My idea is that sleeping in this room is not my enemy. There is something else. I woke up, breathing hard. The room is now fully furnished like an actual hospital room.