I. what

We left blake in the last town... He hit me and was yelling and
...Fuck's sake. Everything's coming apart.
The look in his eyes...

Off. Everything's Off.

I'm not feeling right. Still. I pushed the girls to start moving anyway. I'm going to survive. Whatever. My head aches all the time but we've been stationary way too long and maybe the place is contributing to the way everything's grating on my nerves lately. I'm antsy. I know it. It's off. I'm trying not to be.


Every little thing though. Just rubs me the wrong way. I'm going to pull myself together.


If it can be described in medical terms, it's like I've developed acute paranoia in the past week and a half and I'm trying to keep it where I was before. But you know, this recent development keeps me from keeping my calm.


And, you know, seeing things doesn't exactly help. I don't think I need to clarify on the sort of things, do I?


Apparently I'm paranoid schizophrenic now. Delusional, hallucinating, paranoid, argumentative, angry, inappropriate emotional responses. Is this the part where I just go 'eh, it happens'?


No, no this is the part where I pull myself back together. Or try to.


Guess we'll see.

Looking Back on Things.

The tears I feel today
I'll wait to shed tomorrow.
Though I'll not sleep this night
Nor find surcease from sorrow.
My eyes must keep their sight;
I dare not be tear-blinded.
I must be free to talk
Not choked with grief, clear-minded.
My mouth cannot betray
The anguish that I know.
Yes, I'll keep my tears till later:
But my grief will never go.
-Anne McCaffrey, Dragonsinger

On top of everything else, one of my favorite authors died this past week. It's funny how someone you've never met can have such an impact on your life, can draw you out of depression and the like. I'll always remember finding one of her books in middle school, and being lost n a world of dragons and firelizards. Books and painting have always been my escape from things. These days, books moreso, for a few reasons, though I still paint and draw. I haven't had anything I've felt worth posting recently in that area, sorry.

Back on subject. If a writer of fiction who I have never met died, and it has impacted me so, how much more does it impact me to have multiple people that I consider friends, no matter for how short a time they were, die? Exponentially.

I'm fine, though. Blake's been a bit... on edge recently, after the incident, and that's understandable. I apologized for the way I was acting, though in my opinion he rather overstated just how... unstable I was at the moment. I don't hold it against him, though. We're all stressed right now, and Tia's worn thin trying to take care of both of us. I really should do what I can to make things easier.

I've never really liked pain meds, to be honest. It's not for the reasons Tia was saying or to make myself some kind of martyr or the like. P'sh... Me, a martyr. That would be a litle silly. They just... make my head feel funny. No matter what kind I take. It's a bit annoying. That and the drowsiness is not my friend at the moment, but at least I don't really dream as much when I'm on pain meds. Small blessings.

I'm sorry for anyone I made worry and anyone I've inconvenienced by my getting hurt. Believe me, I'm not having fun right now, because of it.

...Anyway, I thought that little poem at the start of this was fitting right now. Way too fitting.

We're probably going to be moving on again really soon.

Silence is the Loudest Noise

Everything is going to hell. We all know that. We've seen the blogs. Elaine's. Shaun's. Lucas and Joel's. Others. Some of those people, you know, don't even have lives anymore. Which, to say the least, is heavy. It's a lot to take in since I got back. And since Lissie got back. I was never as close to any of these people as she was... but she's very close to them.

So, you see, she's having a worse time of it than I am. I... understand. I feel bad, but... she's... Lissie's being Lissie. And panicking. And Tia's having the temper her. And make her take her meds.

"Quit trying to wallow in your pain. Just quit it. Everyone's lives are shit right now Lissie. Fine. I know... I know it hurts, but you need to survive. You need to do that for those people. And not taking your pain meds when you're in pain? Is not fucking surviving." And then Lissie mumbles excuses and then Tia insists further and Lissie makes faces.

She took them eventually.

I have to hear these interactions between this woman I love and her irrational, panicked best friend and I worry about the stress levels of these people and it's all wrong. And it's fucking loud. It's quiet now, in the literal sense of the word, but it's so fucking loud and I'm so tired and I can't...

I want to protect, I want to be there for her, but it's hard when she puts herself in this place where she sacrifices her own semblance of sanity for someone else. But that's what I love about her, you know? She's just that sort of person. She'll do that for certain people, take herself to the brink just to keep them from it.

Certain people.

I need more rest. I'm not all right yet. I'm trying. But I'm still vomiting and cold and tired and raw. It's hard to sleep at all. I'd like a little peace.

Sometimes I wonder if we'd never... but then again no. That's Tia. And I would've left her if I didn't love her for being her long ago. I'm sticking it out. I'm... We're. We're going to be just fine, isn't that right?

Where the Heart is

Home is where the heart is right? Guess I'm home again. I'm really, really, very tired. And feel like shit. Vomit again. Sleeping all the time.

Need time to recover.

Don't particularly feel like talking about what happened in the time between Lissie and Tia getting out and me getting left behind.

Not forgotten. Just out of reach.

Shepherd wandered away for a bit... managed to get free, wandered a bit myself. Guess Tia and Lissie had been looking for me, so they found me. And now I'm back.
Still feeling out of it.

Shaun, I was keeping it vague in the hopes that we'd be out of reach for a day, not for a week. I had been hoping he wouldn't find us. I was hoping for a good day. So much for hopes eh?

Currently feeling a little out of touch. I'll maybe give another update when I'm feeling up to it. I don't think we should be staying here longer as a result of my health.

We've got to get going. For the girls' sake.

For Tia's sake...

Lovely

Been puking all night, off and on. A lot of it's blood from my nose.  Wonderful. As I read more of what we've missed in the last week, I'm making myself sick again. Can't help anyone. Shep was right about that. I'm just a useless, pointless, worthless brat of a woman, who only makes matters worse. This is not self-pity. This is a statement of fact.Tia's not going to like seeing that when she wakes up. Oopsie.

We're staying in the truck tonight, and I can't really complain. At least that means We can get away from the smell of sick of need be. Things... I hate being on pain meds. I keep seeing things on the edge of my eyes. And unlike the lovely descriptions said by some, it's not Him. Or not just. Have to ignore it. Focus.

Blake's not dead. This is not me in denial. This is not me saying "if I say it enough times, maybe I'll believe it." He's not dead. But I can't. I can't let this be like Marie. I can't. I've never claimed to be able to help anyone, only claimed a want to do so. I know it's probably a pointless endeavor.

I refuse to stop caring, though. No matter what is tossed at me or us right now, I refuse.

twisting and turning and falling and burning. have to make things right. my fault.

Tendrils Dark are Eating up the Light

Do you know that feeling, like when you don't know where to start a story? Like when you wish it was just a story and nothing real at all? Like when you're stuck thinking 'If this were just a story, it would be much, much easier to tell'? All the jumbles of words can't seem to coordinate themselves into a proper sentence and we're just stuck... staring into the dim light of your computer screen, asking yourself, repeatedly 'Where do I even start?'


That's where I am, right now.


...


So tell me, where do I start this story?


On a roller coaster. I start this story on a roller coaster. I'm going to openly proclaim right now I never want to ride a roller coaster again. I never want to see fair food or hear jingling key chains or see smears of spilled slushie on hot cement. I used to have fond memories of these things. I don't anymore.


Maybe it starts when we got off the roller coaster. When did the people start fading out? I'm not really sure when the park started emptying or the dark started settling in. When did the air go stale and still? I'm not sure where things started going wrong. It seemed like all of a sudden things just weren't what they were before and suddenly we three weren't together anymore.


They like leaving me alone in these places. They like having me run about and look for people in large empty spaces. They like giving my panic attacks because they can. I think in a cruel way, they like making me feel the need to release my lunch everywhere. You know, and then I actually do. It happens. Happened. A bit. Maybe more than a bit. I'm feeling a little prideful about it.


I kept a handle on it though. It wasn't so bad this time you know? No curling in on myself. No falling asleep and thinking 'well this is it'. None of that self-deprecation shit either. It's not my job, according to certain other members of the party.


I didn't sleep much over those days.
Couldn't.
Too full of energy.
Didn't eat much either.
Wasn't hungry.


So I looked. I looked hard and long. And I found what I was looking for, eventually. Blake was on one of those big swinging ships, strapped in, passed out. I had no idea how to operate the thing. It seemed to be operating on this infernal timed loop. Stop. Start. Go go go. Stop. Start. Go.


So I waited. Eventually it stopped again. And then I went and grabbed him quick as I could manage, before it started up again.


So now I had a passed out Blake on the loading dock of this swinging ship, and I'm crying and screaming at him to wake up, because I need him to wake up. I need him to wake up right then.


And by some miracle or magic choice of words, he does. He snaps his eyes open and he's there with me again. The rush of relief right then? Unspeakable.


After a time I manage to get him walking, and it's back to looking. I keep his hand in mine. I never let go.


We found Lissie in the fun house after what felt like a whole nother day of looking. She barely awake in the mirror room. I found her by her manic laughter. It stopped when we got into the room. Turned to a more sick gurgling. All the blood in her throat. It's a miracle she didn't choke on it.


Oh god that was a sight to see.


Zip-ties, curled in on herself, blood under her finger nails (not entirely sure that it was hers), nose a shambles, neck bruised and caked with dried blood, ribs broken - again. When we cut the ties off her, she could hardly stand on her own. We didn't make her.


She guided us out, she knew how to navigate it, someway or another. Maybe it was instincts in this place, maybe she's got a talent? I don't get any of it, but I'm practically dragging the two of them out, Lissie coughing out her guidance.


I still hadn't let go of Blake's hand.


He was right there with us. Right there. Next to me. He felt that first breath of fresh air. That life again. And then he was being dragged from my grip. Dragged. Clawed. He clung. I clung. I reached. He reached back for me. Everything was warped.


A face. There was a face behind him. Or the shape of a face. A warped image of a not-face. Seen it before. I couldn't hurt it. Never could. Couldn't sway it. Couldn't make it's grip on Blake loosen. Me? Just a non-consequential being. Powerless. Everything distorted in that moment. Suffocating. Somehow.


I couldn't pull Blake back. He was out of my grip. Then he was gone.


I'm getting him back. Don't you think for a second that I won't.