*As she switches the log on, the usual scenery opens itself upon the PDA's camera just as it almost always seems to be the case: Elena's place on Glendalough Orbital can be seen, she's currently sitting on her desk chair while having her hands folded on the wooden plate, playing around with her thumbs which instantly makes an impression of being full of beans. In the background the tidy bed - for a change - is visible, before it the small Kishiro Service Droid that has by now become a lasting acquaintance of her is just as always cleaning the floor, from time to time banging against the walls by accident and making an almost humanly disgusted sound every time. Every time a small smile plays around Elena's lips, however the few seconds before she starts talking does she mostly spend with looking into the camera with a rather serious expression.*
I doubt I really have to say anything about "Oh well, it's been such a long time since we've talked to each other", as this seems to be extremely obvious anyways. Even though ... goddammit, it's been almost one whole month since the last time - that's something, maybe I even broke my own personal record there as well. Actually, I'm a hundred percent sure I did so. So, to have that out of the way, I'm eternally sorry I forgot about you again, I really am, but as always I got my reasonings behind it, alright? Like, I had a ton of work to do, either had to take care of personal stuff or of the restructuring that happened inside the Forlorn Hope as of late. Good point: I don't have to take part in dangerous and risky hardcore military operations anymore, which is good since I really am tired of getting into trouble while having to care for my little something. *For a moment, she looks down onto her by now clearly visible belly.* Bad point: I've been sitting on this particular chair for so long by now, having to work out stuff and organizing the whole division forming and all that that I actually feel the urge to vomit just from sitting here again. I mean, all in all it's a cool and usually interesting job, but at some points it's becoming utterly repetitive. And if there's one thing I'm hating guts, it's repetitive work. Have you ever wondered why I broke off college? There you go, now you know it.
Anyways, yeah, now I've got a few troubles at hand. Because I can tell you, there's been a bit of stuff going on lately, problem just is, I hope I'll be able to remember all of it and won't leave anything out. That being said, you can actually count on me leaving something out, it's a universal constant of sorts - Elena always leaves something out, not matter if she wants to or not. No, but seriously, I'm already hating myself for not doing this more constantly - there's been building up a pile of stuff I could and should talk about, so let's just hope I don't forget about anything now.
*She changes her body position a little, leaning a little to the left side and supporting herself with her left elbow resting on the table. A small smile would become visible.*
Let's start with some happy stuff. I'm sure you remember that woman I've been talking about the last time, Lily Austin. Well, the matter is that she happened to be quite a cool person, very likable, very sociable, with no hint of a stick in her ass. I've been escorting her every now and then lately, sometimes together with Kiara and the others, after all she's a ferry pilot of Orbital Spa and Cruising and thus could use some protection from time to time. Besides that, I've agreed to show her our outpost, Glendalough - that is, of course only the public areas of it, never would I dare showing her the personnel-only stuff. *She rolls her eyes briefly, however quickly continues.* Basically, I've been showing her around the housing blocks, some gardens and last but not least our top-notch bars where we happened to drink together for a while. No, I didn't exactly get sloshed, but that doesn't mean Lily would have restrained herself ... I mean, she really had chosen to drink a bit too much of that Whiskey, which is why ended up about talking the weirdest stuff you could think of. *At this point, she suddenly starts pulling a face.* No matter how sociable she is though, there's something definitely not kosher with her, she had been acting quite weirdly from time to time, starting off from the body scans before we entered the station up until when we were in the bar having a chat. I've been a bit too careless during that evening, now that I look back, I mean, who knows what my intuition is trying to tell me, maybe she's a goddamn spy - even though she didn't make the impression to me, but what kind of spy does anyways? All in all, I'll have to be a little more careful when I'm around her the next time. Not that I'm planning to tell her classified secrets anyways ... but I've told her enough already, that's safe to say.
*While scratching her neck and lowering her head a little, she tips against her cheek with the fingers of her other hand, obviously thinking about something.*
So let's get to the less cheerful stuff now, shall we? And believe me, the only reason why I'm not gonna get worked up about this matter again is because I had a couple of times recapitulating what happened. And had enough opportunities to put my punching bag to good use. Seriously, I'm glad I have that thing, else somebody would be probably dead by now from all the beating and expressing aggressiveness and all that sh.it. *She forces a smile upon her face saying that.* The one who else would be dead would be Kiara if this case, because certainly she's been acting like a bit.ch lately. *A sigh becomes audible as she realizes she should restrain herself from making full use of her vocabulary.* Okay, let's qualify that statement, we've both been strenuous persons lately, she because she really had some bad ideas about what she could do and what she should be worried about, and I because I got overly worried about this development. I mean, she's not my daughter, I'm not her mother, which really makes me ponder why the hell I got so over-protective about her. Or actually, I don't have to ponder because I know the reason ... pretty sure it has something to do with all the mess that had happened to us lately, putting all of us into some serious danger. It has probably changed all of us, me just as much as her, yet I'd have hoped it would have changed her differently.
So what was going on? Simple. She had begun doing weird trips, first just getting into the transportation of refugee business, which is okay. But then she suddenly began staying away for a longer while over and over again, not saying anything about her whereabouts to me. Of course I'm getting worried then, you see, she's a good friend of mine, a very good one, and she's been in fuc.king Leeds - when she suddenly disappears then, of course I can imagine a few very bad scenarios. As it turned out, she just made some detours "out of fun". Thanks for nothing, these detours are fine, but I would freaking like to know about that, is that so hard to understand? Okay, so that was that, we agreed on that she will inform me when she stays away for longer times. And I was fine with it.
But as it happened to be, this girl lied to me, all the way through. It's okay if somebody lies to me and I don't find out though, then they deserve to not get any problems, after all they are clever enough to not let me find out. But if a person lies to me and they make it so blatantly obvious that they are not telling you the truth ... or at least not the whole ... then they seriously don't deserve any better. So what happened, you are asking, huh? *She scratches her head, puckering her forehead, apparently lost in thoughts again.* You know, it was one of these days when I had my emotional phase again, bleating about everything and everybody and wailing over my oh-so-bad loneliness. Kiara offered to talk to me further and staying on Trenton for the night if I decided else and wished to talk to her instead of lying lonely in my boyfriend's bed. At first, I didn't plan to pester her more, but at some point in the night, I decided to take a look nonetheless. And surprise, she wasn't on Trenton anymore. I looked for her in every single corner, but she was nowhere to be found. I felt horrible back then, but that's beside the actual topic.
*She demonstratively shakes her head, letting out an extremely unsatisfied sigh.*
So, I wanted to find out what the hell was actually wrong with her, also because she had appeared weird to me as of late anyways. What do you do as a loyal friend who wants to find out more, usually? Exactly, you use a freaking tracking device to check every single step your beloved friend is taking. And that's exactly what I did. *A small smirk plays around her lips again in a somewhat ironic fashion.* What I found out was really, really juicy. I mean, I saw her ship landing on Malta all of a sudden, or on Freeport 6. That's when I decided to intervene and check out what the hell was going on, so I confronted her in her apartment she had rented on the Freeport. And guess what, a man was in there. Now, please don't get me wrong, I'm happy for Kiara that she had obviously found somebody finally, but making such a racket because of a man? Weird, isn't it? Well, she concealed from me all the time that it was a damn Outcast she fell in love with. Okay, questionable, but okay, I had enough weird crap going on to not get worked up over that extraordinarily. It's just ... one of my best friends lied to me, because of a man, because she didn't trust me enough and thought I wouldn't understand her love towards an Outcast. As if I was some mind-wrecking child being upset about everything and everybody. Pah, pathetic. *Realizing she gets overly pissed about this, she in- and exhales deeply a few times in an attempt to calm down again.*
We've talked about it, she apologized, I apologized for tracking her down, but I stell kinda seem like the fool in this story. I didn't trust her - which in the end was good how it was, but it's still not good if you can't even trust your closest friends. Probably I was just overly disappointed about that. On the other hand, somebody once told me that you can't trust anybody fully but yourself, not even your closest friends, not when you're in space. Even though I still believe this is extremely harshly put, there's still some truth in these words of wisdom, no?
Anyways, I think that's it for now, I had some fun time with John as well yesterday, after such a long time of not seeing each other. The bright side of life is slowly resurfacing again it seems. I'll end the log here, even though I'm sure I forgot something again. In case I find out I indeed did, there will be just some sort of "postscript" in the next few days, I guess.
*Giving the camera a final nod all while a sincere smile appears on her lips, she raises one of her arms to fiddle around at the PDA for a few seconds before the camera and thus the log gets shut down .*
Hey, you. My dear log. Have I ever mentioned that you, at bottom, are a true blessing for me? You've been with me all the way since I have been hanging around in Liberty, you've always been at my side, even though you are just a bloody damn log. We've been through good times, through less good times and through the fuc.king worst of them all. I hope I didn't pester you with my mood swings too much back then, though, it was never intentional, please believe me. It's also not as if I had always kept you up-to-date or anything, but let's see it from another perspective: No matter what, sooner or later I've come back to you, to write stuff into you, to talk to you, to get rid of the emotional baggages in my mind. So to say, you might know me better than anybody else. My closest friends know my fassade, and have one or another insight, but they definitely don't know me completely. You on the other hand do, because here, when I talk to you, I don't need to keep secrets. That's all I wanted to say about it. Thanks for that, it really helps.
Before you start wondering though why you don't see my ugly face, let's clear that out quickly. I've decided to go back to a text-bases format, yes. I'm not sure for how long I will keep it, but there are reasons for it. You wouldn't want to see me right now anyways, I'm looking like a picture of misery to describe it nicely. Luckily there are no mirrors in this room I'm currently lying in, I wouldn't want to see me right now anyways. I just couldn't stand it. The problem isn't a "Oh my God, I don't wear make-up today"-related problem. Simply put, I'd have to vomit. Additionally, while I do like talking to you, I want to put content in here. Which is easier by writing at this moment than by talking, considering I would probably burst into a flood of tears the second I start talking about what I want to tell you. Yes, it's that bad. No, I am neither kidding nor exaggerating.
Just consider this a forewarning of what is to follow.
And by now have I already spent one to two hours, just to write this short piece of text. Interrupted by phases of procrastinating "staring-out-of-the-window", crying attacks and what-not. Whatever I am going to tell you now, please understand that it's so unbelievably hard to imagine my situation, and it's even harder to describe my situation without constant fall-backs of lamenting, over and over again. I know exactly how I feel, but putting that into words - it hurts deep down. Which makes me wonder why the fu.ck I have actually decided to write this. Then again, even though I don't want to concede it, I know why I try to write it down in an understandable manner, even though I feel like a masochist in doing so. Somebody I need to tell this, at best somebody who isn't even able to react, because I swear, the least thing I currently need from people is a reaction, whatever it might be. Support, blame, I don't care, I don't want it. The first is an absolutely obsolete piece of blah blah that no bastard needs, the latter I have in stock in masses already, thanks anyways.
It's as if you are falling into a deep, black hole, you know that you are falling, but you got no hint of idea when you are about to hit the ground, or if there actually is any ground at all. For now, it's an endless fall, I don't know where the ground it is, but for God's sake I hope I will hit it soon. I can't stand falling anymore, it's only you and the void beside you, you're on your own, and you got nothing left to comfort yourself. You will inevitably hit the ground, you can do nothing about it, and it's such a hard thing to actually accept this. I believe I haven't, yet. A couple of days aren't enough for that, probably, I fear.
To express it a little clearer, possibly, can you imagine how it feels when this one thing that made your life worth living is gone? The thing that has motivated you the most, made you stand through the ups and downs of life, no matter what happens, just because you know what you're working towards, what you're trying to achieve? This one dream, this one goal. When it is gone, when you slowly, but surely begin realizing you cannot achieve anymore, no matter the circumstances, a world begins to crumble, your world begins to crumble. When you look forward, you see void. And when you look back, seeing what you have tried to achieve your goal, your dream, you only see void as well, remembering that anything you did was in total vain in the end. Remembering how optimistic you once were about your dream, how you were so naively sure you would reach it.
It's not naive to risk things, it's naive to think whatever plans you have for your life will actually work out. I have learnt this lesson of life so many times before during the span of my life, and every single time it proved to be right when something happened that I hadn't seen coming, destroying everything. No matter if it was my dream to become a Militär officer - denied. Or my dream to trek through Sirius with the so called "love of my life" - denied. Or to become a mother together with the man I love - DENIED.
It's dead. I hate putting it in those blunt words, but really there are no other words than those two, no way to say it differently, no way around the hard truth. It's gone. I could already scream my mind to the heavens, shouting at God why he did this, why he has taken it from me, confronting him and asking him the question of theodicy, the question of why? But at the end of the day, I know who is to blame, I don't want to confess it, it hurts, but I know exactly who did this to my child. It was his own mother. And this is what makes the fall feel endless to me. If it had been God to blame, at one point could I have forgiven him and just went on. But I'm just not sure if I can ever forgive this faux-pas to myself. I have my blood on my hands, more so, I got my offspring's blood on my hands! Tell me, how many parents have actually killed their own children? Not many, I guess, but one can be added to the list now. It's an unbelievable feeling, an unbelievably sh.itty one. Literally, I've spent the last few days in my bed, idling, staring out of the window, looking at the meal right next to me, then staring out of the window again, repeat that a few more times and you got my average day currently. I'm chained to this bed, chained to so much time I got for myself. I could need work right now, something to distract me, because my thoughts have tortured for the whole week so far. The chances of me going insane aren't too low, I guess.
I know I'm not the only one thinking that way, that I am to blame. John thinks the same way. He didn't say it, but from his reaction it became more or less obvious. In the end, he left me alone, probably heading to binge-drink in the next bar he could find. I've never seen him that angry, honestly. Angry at me. But I can't blame him.
If anything, I need to get out of here, this place is torture. If they won't let me go in the next two days, I'll make a getaway on my own. I can't endure this anymore. I just hope it will get better once I'm out of here.
*Differently to her last log, as she switches it on the video feed is back and active, the camera is showing a huddled Elena who is currently sitting on the couch in her apartment on Glendalough, having her shoulders sloping dauntedly. What would immediately leap to the eye is the half-empty bottle of Vodka sitting right beside her. Somewhere in the room the obnoxious noise of a vacuum cleaner can be heard, together with casual bashes as in the background a certain KSR bangs against a nearby wall. With a vacant stare does she look into the camera, showing a blank and expressionless face while beginning to fidget around with the Vodka bottle. After some brief consideration, she takes a larger swig of alcohol, with some of the liquid dripping down her chin, and wipes down her mouth with the sleeve of her pullover. Another oblong stare later, she sighs, looking away while starting to speak. Her voice - a croaking one, with noticeable trembling every now and then.*
Back to normal again, I guess. *Already after the first sentence does she begin to cough, pouring more Vodka into her throat immediately after.* It didn't took much time to configurate your systems back to recording mode. *She waves her hand in an overly demotivated manner.* Heeeey there, nice to see me again, right? Well, don't mind my unkempt hair or my face that, uh, looks like a thug has used it as target practise. Maybe I should've spared you that sight, ye, but then again, we gotta be honest with each other right? Means I'm gonna be honest with you how messed up I actually look like right now. Like, constant bad hair days, all the way through, can you imagine that? Oh right, you got no hair, how ignorant from me to forget that. Never mind then! If you're thinking right now "Uuuh, Elena, what are you about to do? You're gonna talk about that again?", here's my answer: Yup. But I swear this time I stand through this! You see, I got my best bud assembled this time. *She holds the bottle into the camera.* Vodka, oh sweet Vodka, how could I have ever lived without you I wonder. Just realized how much I've actually missed its taste. It's rough, the way I like it. A rough liquid for rough times, eh...? Cheers on that ingenious slogan!
*She begins to lead the bottle to her mouth, pouring more Vodka into her mouth and gulping it down. As if it had already become some sort of ritual, she sighs easedly, putting the bottle back on the couch, beside her.*
I got no idea what this fuc.king doctor was on about, talking about "painkillers" and all that sh.it. -This- is real pain killer, I tell you! And the good thing is, I still don't get that easily drunk as you might think, meaning I can drink even more of that stuff to get rid of any sort of pain. I can still think straight - heh, or at least I -think- that I can, but that doesn't matter much to me anyways. The less I can think, the better, right? Seriously, sometimes I believe it would just be better when I thought less, 'cause my thoughts tend to circlejerk around my concerns again ... and again ... and again. Alcohol breaks that circle quite effectively. I mean, sure I still know about all the crap that's been happening lately: the ... eh ... eh, ah screw it, I ain't gonna call it by its name, you know it anyways. Just saying those words out loud is kinda shi.tty, and believe me it is hard to say them in the first place, but damn it hurts. It's hurting less with Vodka, yeah, but that doesn't stop the aches. At least the alcohol is preventing me from breaking out in tears... oh boy, I swear without the alcohol I would have shut off the log already by now, succumbing in such sweet teardrops.
To get something out of the way. I -hate- crying. I really do. It's just something you can't control, and it usually hits the fence the moment you need it the very least. That's how it's for me, at least. And thus, the Vodka.
*For a moment, she lowers her head, staring down at the ground, then back at her Vodka bottle which she leaves untouched for now though. Another deep exhale can be heard as she turns her attention to the camera.*
I thought, I hoped it would get better when I just get out of that bloody hospital, but truth to be told, no it ain't getting better. Though to be honest, this week of being a captive of the doctor's -was- a hell damn ugly experience. I sat there, left alone by everybody and everything, only with myself as company - and man, I hate myself as company. That's ironic, isn't it? I wanna be the company of other people, but I can't stand myself as company myself. All alone I was... *She makes a sweeping gesture.* ... with my lil' demons on my shoulders. And my own mind driving circlejerks, how is that? I swear, sometimes I could've even heard those pesky little things on my shoulder tell me stuff. They blamed me, shouted at me, even fuc.king laughed at me. I don't know if that's something I should be worried about, that something is not right with my psyche and that blah blah. I know my psyche better than most, and damn, I can tell you it's wrong from the bottom. Point is, this motherfuc.ker of boyfriend I got myself there left me alone, the whole damn week, for me to brood over that crap all on my own. Then again, I tried to look into his eyes yesterday, and man they were judging as hell. They were judging me. And I felt so naked, standing in front of him, as he told me exactly what I am. Egocentric, bit.chy, irresponsible, egoistical, all that. All because he's the 'oh-so-broken' man now, or at least he's acting like that, god dammit I don't know and I don't care. He got no freaking idea of what I'm feeling, or what I'd be supposed to be feeling when I'm not drunk. I've been trying to be drunk the whole day, to be honest, to not get these feelings touch me. I don't want that anymore. They are nagging me, even when I can suppress them, when I partially manage to avoid and ignore them, they are always there. Tickling me, reminding me of their goddamn presence as if I didn't know. And every now and then, the dam breaks apart, and swoooops, you got a crying mess in front of you. Yep, me.
I couldn't tell anybody else about that crap so far. I had more than one opportunity to do so, but I just couldn't. When I'm being around the people I know, you see, it feels like a dream, I ain't gettin' reminded of what happened and so I can rather easily just forget about it. It's as if I wanted to keep that dream, 'cause I know the second I tell them what I've lost and especially how I've lost hit, I know they are gonna hate me just as much as John is hating me right now. I wished that was still reality what I am leading them to believe. I ... I just. *She stops for a second, then almost shouts.* I just want my baby back! Please, God, is that asked too much?!
*She lowers her head yet again, this time for a longer period of time. Her facial play is hard to examine, but from the sounds she is making - occasional sniffs - it appears she is trying to suppress tears. After having washed some of them away with her sleeves, she looks back at the camera, having regained her composure impressively fast. Just to be 100% sure she pours more Vodka into her.*
Sorry. Fact is, everybody would hate me. Kiara, for example, she's already hating me like furious. 'Kay, admittedly she caught me drinking alcohol without knowing what's happened, but she didn't want to listen when I was about to tell her. Instead, she went on screaming and shouting at me as if I was her damn punching bag. God dammit Kiara, I can be your punching bag, but please, does it have to be now? It's not like you are the only one who doesn't have an easy life with your nice Outcast boyfriend, other people have problems too... and her reaction didn't help much either, honestly. It's already hard enough to tell anybody about it, but it gets extra hard when said person is shouting at you like a madman. Best thing about this is, now she's gettin' sloshed in Kusari just as I am. Well played, Kiara, well played, unified in separation, right? It all only makes me feel even worse, really, I can't contact her. Or rather, she won't answer. Instead, she wants that bad blood to go on for I don't know how long. I don't even wanna know what she must think of me right now... *A loud, lanky sigh.* Oh Jesus...
No, I ain't gettin' caught in self-pity now. Not -again-. *Whisperingly.* Not as if that happened so many times before anyways...
It's not getting better, I keep it a damn secret while very well knowing this is of no use at all. Sooner or later, they'll find out when they see me in person again, the belly is almost completely gone already. And then they're gonna ask. And then I'll have to tell them I lied to them the whole time, and have to tell them why it died. And theeeen, Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm done for, I can guarantee that. Reeeeally looking forward to that already, believe me. *She takes yet another swig from the bottle now.* You know, the question I'm pondering is: Can I ever forgive myself that? I mean, I could forgive myself cheating on my boyfriend and various other stuff, but that? How is that ever gonna be supposed to work? Honestly, considering how I'm feeling now, I doubt I'll ever forgive it. But hey God, a divine intervention would be very welcomed now, so, you know, if you wanna make me forgive it, I'd be most grateful! *She chuckles for a very brief second before the laughter dies.*
Now, here at the end, I'll mention some other stuff, fairly quickly, 'cause I don't care tooo much about it anyways. Heh, as if I currently really cared about anything. The only reason I'm actually doing work is to distract myself, which works, heh. Nice pun. Anyways, first: I'll bake a cake, with Maren, you remember, Ez's girlfriend, exactly that woman yeah. The one that almost drowns herself in bad and racist jokes. And second: Did I tell you Lily got missing? Did I tell you that once again Mr. Vertiga seems to have his finger in the pie, as he happens to be a friend of said Lily? Oh, and did I tell you that my research brought to light that Lily apparently vanished on purpose? No? Right, now I told you, and I don't really wanna get into the details now. Investigating some of that incident was just a way to kill time and get distracted, not much more to be honest. Still... you know, when I think about it, actually I do wanna know what the hell is going on there. Except that V isn't gonna tell me anything, knowing him.
Hey! *She exclaims.* I stood through that! Did you see that? Bless the alcohol, for God has created a wonderful gift to humankind there. Everything I wanted to say has been said, now bye, goddammit! I've talked far too much already.
*That being said, she downs the rest of the Vodka in the bottle, sighing in amusement again while pressing the button to shut off the log.*
*As Elena switches the log on, the camera shows her figure sitting cross-legged on a wooden bench of quite old fashion. With one hand she is holding the PDA which is as usual recording the scenery, the other one is resting on the bench, supporting her. With vacant expressions does she stare into the camera, though it is transforming into a scowl every now and then, while her weary eyes are telling a story of great fatigue. Behind her, the camera is capturing a typical nature scene; trees and plants that are stretching their verdurous leaves up. Farther away in the background, there is a white wall visible that confining the gardens Elena is apparently residing in just now. One of the few gardens on board Glendalough Orbital, where she had decided to retire to for the moment. It however seems a little lifeless, just as she does, as ambient noises such as bird's twittering or occasional drafts are scarce, next to non-existant. Making a small hand gesture, resembling a wave of her hand to greet the camera, she starts talking.*
In case you wonder why I'm probably looking like an unwashed piece of trash, I can clear that out easily, just one word: hangover. And oh man, I tell you, I got one, a heavy one even. My head is throbbing like crazy, as if somebody madman was bashing against it with a sledgehammer again and again. And all that, only from one bloody bottle of Vodka. It's like - Jesus, I'm not used to anything anymore, no matter how much I'm persuading myself that I am again, I'm so not. Okay, granted, maybe, just maybe it were two bottles yesterday evening, but can you blame me for it? I'm just saying, you can blame me for a lot of sh- *She takes a sharp breath.* Okay, okay, full stop. No, Elena, I won't hear of it, not now. Stop self-pitying, for once, for fuck's sake. What I was about to say, can you blame me for it? It's some sort of self-help therapy after all. Like, you see, the alcohol really helps. It's not really helping now - Christ, no it really is not - but at least it helped yesterday. Whole lot better than medicaments certainly, at least in my opinion. *She gulps.* I've stood through a lot worse hangovers though, so I won't complain like a pussy now. I've probably done so already anyways, haven't I?
*She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second to soak the air of the garden in. It probably isn't much different to anywhere else on Glendalough, but maybe she just tries to imagine it being different.*
Okay, so where do I begin. *She scratches her head, looking around for a brief moment. Her posture in the meanwhile turns into a more bent one.* I think I should start where I left off the last time, which would be this invitation I got a week ago or so. You remember, from Maren - aristocratic - von Westefeld, the girlfriend of my kind-of-friend Ezrael. Before I actually begin to lose any word about this whole debacle, let me add that I went there to get distracted, alright? You know, I didn't really feel the wish to bake cake, not really enthusiastic I was you could say, but I thought, well, could be interesting, right? Blowing the cobwebs away and such, not to mention I knew Maren can be funny company. I stress the phrase "can be" on purpose, though! You'll soon see why. So now, I went there in the attempt to have a good time, not that I was sure it would be that way, but I had some hopes. What did I get served? Some of the stuff I really, really hate eating lately. Problems. A bunch of them. Not the kind of problems that I got now, you know what I mean, but instead, old ones got warmed up. Now they are back in my head as well, and I'm seriously in doubt what I'm supposed to believe.
I met Maren in her bungalow on Curacao, nice location, quite a comfy building, I could've definitely imagined spending some more time there. But hell, believe me, could I imagine that now? No way, I swear. I won't gonna make another step into that damn building anytime soon. You must be wondering, in what kind of shit did you get involved this time again? Well, you see, I told you about that thing between Ezrael and me. Not the cuddling on Corinth, not that. The stuff with Hussaini I mean. And its repercussions. I thought we were good, he and me, we won't meet each other again, and everything's fine, that's it. Not a bit of it. The repercussions gave me a sweet little kick in the arse again that evening.
*She sighs.* Maren behaved weirdly, once or twice over the course of the evening. Like, I told you, she can be funny, but she can be so much other stuff as well! Creepy, first and foremost. When we were done with baking that cake, which didn't take long, and wasn't either really thrilling or interesting, we went to the beach, swimming a little - although she couldn't swim, to my surprise - and chilling under a palm tree. That's when things got ugly for the first time. *She suddenly shudders.* She knew that I knew Operative Red, Ezrael's Guy Fawkes mask so to say, and asked me out about his adventures. Of course we had to end up talking about that Freeport Ten run-in with Hussaini. Thing is, she knew stuff, much stuff. And her behavior, creepy as fuck. She was ... actively! ... asking about Hussaini's eyes! As if she knew he was infected, and with that grin at the same time, I tell you I would have almost run away. What she told me afterwards was even worse, though. She knows that thing, Unschuld, pretty well as I can see it. Not like I was still calm at that point, no. I'd have loved to screamingly get the hell away from her, because I knew that something was absolutely not right. I was literally afraid of her.
*She shakes her head, scratching it again and lowering it to glance at the ground, as though she was to sort her thoughts. Her expressions had turned quite strained over the course of her narration.*
But that's not all, the worst part is still coming. So we went back, hopping on the couches and deciding to watch one of those movies I brought with me. A classic one, very old horror movie, probably even a unique copy or something. It's not exactly healthy for me to watch horror movies, because I know myself that I'm jumpy lately. Too jumpy, to be honest, but I can't help it. That's when it happened. I should've seen it coming, but Maren had told me he was away, apparently he had done some unfunny stuff on his battleship. But guess who stood in the door suddenly? The guy I'm not supposed to see. Because a certain infected swine controls him like a bloody pet. So, after I pointed my gun at him, and exchanged other similar pleasantries, it became apparent there was something not alright. He decided to hop onto the couch as well, but I tell you, the atmosphere was frosty. Understandably. But it signalized me we were in trouble all of a sudden. This bake meeting slowly turned into a debacle because of that, as those old problems came back knocking at the door, it seemed. Ezrael was acting extremely weirdly, stiff to say the least, calling me "Miss Voigt" at first even.
Wanna hear my opinion? I think Maren is some kind of bad, bitchy snitch and big friends with Unschuld. Or... or of course... you see, there is this one thought that crossed my mind at one point. With Maren acting so weirdly, what if ... if she is actually the real source of problem? Unschuld had told me they wanted to keep an eye on me. So. Do you think what I think? Why the hell would Maren want to bake cake with me, out of all people, anyways, if not to have a closer look at me? I had all kinds of bad thoughts at that point. Is she an agent for that infectee, is she one herself, is she in fact Unschuld? I know, that's like the most absurd bullshit, but that's what crossed my mind.
Later the evening, Ezrael and I had the opportunity to speak under four eyes about it. He was trying to comfort me, kind of, but at the same time it was quite obvious he wanted me to get the hell away before more troubles are being produced. Which I was just as inclined to do as you believe, yes. Honestly, he can go and sit on a tack for my sake. I'm so over this whole shit. I tried to have a good time there, and in what does it have to end? A discussion about problems I had managed to push to the back of mind. One way or another, I guess rather they got overshadowed by others, but that doesn't change the results in any way. I won't meet this guy anytime soon, and to be honest, I don't really care. As long as I just stay away from them and their problems and nomad crap, I'm fine. It's not like I'm not deep enough in doo-doo anyway. The last thing I'd wanna do is create more, and man, by going there, I created more. Sometimes I seriously begin to wonder whether that's some kind of instinct of mine. Oh, look, there's an opportunity to get into trouble, my brain must think subconsciously. Hey, why not take the opportunity and seize the day? Jeesh, I'm so over that I swear.
*Burying her face in her hands, she takes a few more sharp breaths, as though she was aware the topics of this log won't get better anytime soon. Then, a lenthy sigh, one that could speak more than a thousand words about reluctance. Finally she raises her head again, and with an uptight facial play stares into the camera.*
Let's get to the real bullshit, though. Because like, I can learn my lesson out of that, sort of. Never go to Maren and Ezrael again, it will only cause a bunch of unnecessary trouble which I'm in no need of at the moment. But believe me, there is so much more stuff that's making me awfully sick. And the problem! *Her tone becomes louder, verging on shouting.* And the problem is not even this goddamn death! Yes, I'm gonna speak it out loud, I killed my baby, there you got it, but that's nowhere near the whole crap that is befalling me currently. It's a majority, alright, I admit, it's a majority of why I feel like shit still, after three weeks of opportunities to get over with. But what does that help if you're just about to step right into the next turd? If I didn't know better - actually, I -do- know better, that's why I'm actually saying it, I'd say I just can't help it. A poor excuse, I know, and I don't believe it myself, but sometimes it makes the impression of such. That I'm doomed to walk from disaster to disaster. At the end of the day, I doom myself, you ain't gotta tell me. You can't anyways, yes, but I know you'd like to.
Now here I am, saying out loud that I know it's all my fault. Hell, it all wouldn't be such a massive problem if I didn't, but matter of fact, I do. The baby, the decision to go to Maren's on Curacao, and then ... oh God. Give me a moment.
*Her gaze wanders away from the camera while she is staring into the distance with blank eyes. They get a little wet which is clearly perceivable, but she manages to keep it under control. One snivel and she turns her attention back to the camera.*
Alright. Here we go again. Kiara. *She hesitates.* God why am I even torturing myself with recording those logs? It's as if I thought my life was so overly exciting and important to record all of it. Call it a habit I guess? Urgh, I don't even know. So, Kiara, back to her. You know, I thought I knew that she was safely on Nicole's Democritus, one of those expensive yachts. What could go wrong on one of those? Much can go wrong. Nicole didn't manage to keep her there, it seems, and last time I asked her she said Kiara had cleared off to God-knows-where. You see, I ... I can understand Kiara has her own independent existence and all, after she had scolded me some time ago that I was overprotective, I tried to reduce that. Trying to give one fuck less about it, knowing she'd be fine. Now, now guess what? No, she's not fine. Because of me, she's not fine. Remember how I pissed her off with my alcohol consumption back in the days when I was freshly out of that piece of concrete trash called hospital? She was completely furious, throwing so bad words at me, blaming me that I wouldn't take any care of my ... baby. She's right in any aspect, in any sense of the word, though with some delay, 'cause back then it already didn't make any difference anymore. It let her words roll of my shoulder, a product of my drunk state and my knowledge that literally made me completely indifferent about that matter. So she ran off. I guess she was disappointed of me, something like that, as I'm a close of friend of hers. *She breaths in heavily again.* If you just had any idea how hard it is to talk about this all...
I disappointed her. Fine, one of many faux-pas of mine as of late. But ... oh God, how do I say this? Yesterday we had got a hint from some filthy Junker scum that there was a wreckage floating around space in Tau-37, transponder saying it's called "Sea Nymph". It was Kiara's personal vessel, you know, the ones she had always done her dangerous journeys to Leeds ... or Malta ... with. You can imagine how fast I ran there as soon as I had the coordinates of her ship. The sight, I tell you, the sight ... it was horrible, terrifying, unbearable even. Somebody had shot the ship down. No energy, no life signs, nothing, just a lone wreckage floating in the lonely, vast space of the Taus. We towed the Nymph back to Glendalough for an inspection, Mason and I, in the hopes to find out what happened ... or, maybe to find her on board despite the lacking life signs.
The sights inside the ship wasn't any better. Alcohol, everywhere. Only that made me realize what I had actually done to her. I made her plunge into a binge-drinking, it seemed. There was blood, somewhere. But first and foremost, beer. Much of it. Won't hide I had an emotional breakdown in there. I hate myself for that, I really do. I wished I could contain myself better, but that was just ... just horrible. I don't know how to describe it, for me it just lacks any kind of fitting description. I recognized her dress while we were on board, the one I bought together with her to later go on a party with. When I only think about, I swear. Oh God. What have I done to her? To my friend..?
We're gonna search for her, as we believe she got captured. But even if that was the case, it wouldn't make anything better. I still feel guilty of all of that. Had I restrained myself and brought myself to tell her about what happened, she would still be there. This way, because I couldn't tell her point-blank what I had been upto, she might be dead... or a captive, being tortured ... or abused ... I ... *She ends the sentence with another, almost stranded-sounding sigh of helplessness.*
What pisses me off is, I had talked to people about my problems, even. Edith Toller and Nazawo Ayato to be exact, the first one a very old friend of mine. They didn't run off when they heard what I was trying to cope with. They didn't blame me, or at least they didn't voice it. They talked to me, even peptalked me. Telling me stuff's gonna be alright at one point, and that the coping process will find its end some time. I had hopes, even if small ones, that they might be right. Still hated myself for everything, but at least I might saw the light at the end of the tunnel for a short amount of time. What comes next? This. And this just reminds me again why I've been how I've been lately. I didn't only kill my baby. I might have just killed my best friend as well now.
God. If you listen to this. I never, ever, really believed in you, not in Christianity or anything, that's bull. But if you're out there, I could really, really use your help right now. I may not deserve it, but who does anyway?
I should end this, now. Before I get too much into all those thoughts again.
*Shaking her head, she briefly glances into the camera for a lost second with narrowed eyes, then with a pinched smile would she end the log.*
*As Elena switches the log on, she can be seen sitting on her usual chair in front of the desk in her apartment on Glendalough. A cup of black, steamingly hot coffee right beside her on the table, half-empty. If any word could describe her mien the best, it would be weariness, as her dead tired eyes are focusing the camera. Wearing an oversized white T-Shirt, she slouches her shoulders and sprawls on the chair she is sitting on. Her hair has by now taken on a lighter hue of blue, indicating it would have been time for another session of hairdying again. Her right hand reaches out for the cup of coffee, guiding it towards her lips and sipping from it with insinuated relish. Thereupon, she replaced the cup again, licking her lips and inhaling deeply with the intention to begin with her oration. There is no smile whatsoever forming around her lips.*
Okay, here we go again. A lot has happened since last time, and yes, I know I'm saying that each and every time I switch you on. But truth be told, there's really been quite a few things that were done to me. Not like I enjoyed them. That would be too much to ask for. To be honest, when I think about what has happened, I can't even name one single fortunate circumstance. It's a huge pile of crap, to word it nicely. And really, honestly? I don't want to anymore. I'm slowly having enough of all the stuff that's being done to me. Maybe my current attempt to be off the booze pulls its weight, I don't know, but I can tell you it doesn't make things easier without it. I can't drown my sorrows in alcohl anymore, which I, you know, used to do before. Didn't help much, but at least it did a bit. The hangovers were quite a pain in the arse though, so maybe it's better I'm away from it. On the other hand, I really gotta pull myself together constantly to not just grab the closest bottle. Still got them in my apartment, in case of a worst-case scenario happening, or something like that. Jesus Christ, I miss the booze. After only a few days already. Never thought I was that addicted already, but apparently I really am. Doesn't make things better, if I may say so. You know, one of my favourite expressions goes along the lines of "It can't get any worse now, can it?". That foils me every time. Because it can always get worse.
*She sighs, taking a few more sips from the coffee, closing her eyes for a second and muttering a few not further understandable words. Scratching her frowned forehead, she briefly glances at the camera again, then shakes her head and lowers her head to stare at the empty desk.*
Let's start with the worst of the worst then, so we get over with it quickly. I hate my psyche, I really do. When I think about it, I hate myself in pretty much each and every aspect, but my psyche is the damn worst of them all. Because if I didn't know better, and sadly in this case I really do not know better, I'd say I'm slowly, but surely going nuts, insane, coo-coo, however you wanna call it. In essence, I guess you know what I'm talking about. *She rakes her fingers through her hair.* It's not like I have much sleep nowadays anyways, my sleeping cycle is pretty much done for, but eventually you always fall asleep. Only problem is that I really, really don't wanna sleep. Whenever I fall asleep, and believe me there is not a single exception, there are nightmares crawling from the back of my mind and pestering me to no end. Nightmares about ... *She halts for a second.* ... you know exactly what anyway. I still can't get over it, and instead that it becomes better, it just becomes worse and worse. Funny how one single event can strike you down like that. *She shakes her head.* Every time I only think about it, I start hating myself again for what I've done. Believe me, I'd like to get over it, but how am I supposed to do that when I get constantly reminded of all that bull, every night when I try to rest? And the absolute worst - *She looks up, her face painted with anxiety.* - it's not even limited by my dreams only. I ... I can see her, in front of me, sometimes. No, I'm not joking. Yes, I'm hallucinating. First, it was only when I was drunk, which mostly made me try to quit with the whole binge-drinking, but by now, I can sometimes hear her whispering, or see her as she is trying to lurk behind my back. Sometimes have those kind of ... I don't know, call it flashbacks, maybe? I'm back at the point when I'm puking my lungs out in the apartment then, shortly before the doctors arrived. It's ... it's frightening. All I can do is to wait for the next moment when those memories hit me again or when I suddenly hear my ... my child crying in my room. I know that nothing of this is real, but it appears so damn real. And no matter if it's real or not, it's still fucking happening to me. *She buries her face in her heads.* I know it sounds insane, and I know that I'm going insane. Maybe it's the tit-for-tat response for my failure, I don't know. Just want it to stop, really, I can't bear it anymore. And I don't wanna go insane. Can all those memories not please just leave me alone? *She rubs her eyes, then looks at the camera again.* I hate to say it, I really, really do, but I've come to the realization that I need help. Serious help. Not just friends trying to peptalk me. They won't make those daydreams and nightmares go away, as much as I wished they could do that. And apparently I can't help myself. I don't even know what the hell is happening with me, I'm no doctor. Maybe I need one. A psychotherapist, or something. Somebody that makes this whole crap go away. I can't concentrate anymore, the fear of all this is just too much. Often I'm shaking.
I haven't told anybody about this so far, and I will keep my mouth shut about this for sure. If anybody finds out little old me is is losing her sanity, it's game-over. Assuming I find somebody who can help me with that, it's gonna have to be a cloak-and-dagger operation. They'd just frown at me.
I'm frightened of it. Please, just make it all go away.
*She shakes her head again and hectically looks around her apartment, to the sides, behind her. Once again she runs her fingers through her hair, while knitting her brows.*
But no, there's more I got on my shoulders right now. Remember Kiara. She's ... *She hesitates visibly.* ... not dead. Luckily, might I say, but at the same time it's complicating so much more the way it is at the moment. Fact is that she's being held hostage currently, by a bloody slave driver. His name is Remy Moreau, part of the Gallic Brigands. We already got a ransom demand by now. 350 million credits this little asshole demanded to not either send her off to Malta or hack her into little bits to sell her organs afterwards. *Her tone becomes a little louder, wrathful.* I swear, I will waterboard this bastard, slash him open and tear out his guts all while he will cry for mercy. And I will enjoy it. This gay Gaul will wish to have never made my acquaintance. He will suffer for what he's already done with Kiara, I swear by Almighty God. Once we will have this little wanker, he'll find out what consequences it has to mess with me and my friends. *As she chokes on her own words, she has to cough for a few moments.* Sorry, but I'm just getting so worked up on that, it's horrible. That still won't hinder me from exacting revenge on this poor little bastard. Maybe he gets a new view on all and sundry when he experiences what his victims had to experience, don't you think?
The most horrible thing however is that I have to masquerade myself as the one who doesn't care. We could pay the ransom as well, of course, and that would spare Kiara a lot of torture, I suppose, but I feel this reluctance to work together with criminals. Still. Just imagining she has to suffer even more, just because I am acting indifferent as though I didn't care one single bit about her future is just wearing me out even more, and it's difficult for me. I mean, I never had problems acting out something, but this ... *She sighs.* It's something different. Usually I enjoy acting, playing somebody else, you know. But I don't enjoy this. I hate it. And I hate me for having to do it. I'm well aware that working with criminals and complying to their demands is the dumbest thing you could think of, but this is hard to endure. Guess I'm used to that already, though.
I just want to have her back, and to know that she's safe again. Until then, I just can't feel good, especially since it's still obvious I caused this whole debacle. And the more days pass, the more I become doubtful whether our plan will actually work out or not.
*She grabs the cup of coffee and empties it in one last go, a sigh slips her lips before she puts it back on the table and rubs her hands briefly.*
Then there is the thing concerning Lily. A week ago or so, I've seen her in space again, and of course immediately wanted to talk to her again. Had been some time since I had seen her, and after what I got told from other people, especially dear Mason, I was aware there were things about her I was not aware of. So I asked for a meeting, and she suggested to meet in her apartment on Curacao. No sooner said than done. Looking back, I behaved like a dick. Delicacy of feeling wasn't exactly what I displayed, and to be honest, I regret some of the words I chose. I mean, yes I finally what's been going on with her to some extent, but I'm not so proud I found out. Seemed like I hurt her quite a bit. *Groaning slightly, she lowers her head again.* I prodded her too much, and only because I wanted to satisfy my curiosity. On the other hand, maybe it was my right to confront her with what I had found out. Considering I had thought to have found a friend in her. And only then realized I was friends with a costume. *She moves her hands over her face, rubbing it.* No, her name is not Lily Austin. She's called Nancy. I don't know the last name though, forgot to ask about that honestly, it was already enough information I got back then. And according to her, she's a serial killer. Sure that sounds weird first, and I was inclined to not believe her, but it matched the statements Mason had given about her on another occasion. Now for the ugly part: to find out about that, I apparently had to bring back some less pleasant memories of hers. I believe she was on the verge of tears once or twice. And I just kept on digging. *She shakes her head.* Disgusting. I really got no idea what that bothering with questions was supposed to achieve, especially since I got no use for those information. Snitching on her to the authorities, you say? First, just no. Even though she lied to me big-time, I can somewhat understand why she did. Trying to run away from her past. Not very different to what I'm doing at the moment, don't you think? Or at least what I'm trying to do. Except that I don't try to get a new ID. Though I must say this interrogation explained a few things to me. Seems like I've found this friend Leon Isley, you know, the guy who's best buds with Ezrael, had talked about a few months ago. Apparently he actually really managed to lay his hands on an ID. Didn't expect that.
However, there's something else that came to light during this meeting. And seriously, people can stop telling me stuff about it, there's no way around the truth that I think I know what is going on with Unschuld and Maren. You see, I had my doubts, alright? But was sure they are in cahoots together somehow, judging from ... you know the story, I told you. I don't know how, but Lily ... Nancy ... God, whatever, we ended up talking about Maren, God knows why, I can't remember. Nancy told me she had been jealous when her boyfriend told her about the stuff with Hussaini. That she was mad at him for protecting another woman. And no matter what Nancy tried to sell me afterwards, she said that she thinks that's the reason why we're not allowed to meet again. Remember how Ezrael told me that "this certain individual" called Unschuld had decided that? Was it Unschuld or Maren now? Or does that actually matter one single bit? *She scratches her head.* So, that's it. They can try tell me all they want, but I'm convinced they are the same freaking person. It makes sense. Hell, it makes no sense, but it does. Jealousy is a sensible motive for the exact decision that had been made, no?
So what does this mean? *She raises her hand, counting with her fingers.* First. I've been close to somebody who hopped into bed with an infectee. We have definitely reached a certain level of weirdness already. Second. He lied to me. Makes me wonder how much I should trust him. Third. No matter what the hell he told me, he definitely stands under nomad influence when his girlfriend has a nomad inside her. Jesus. Makes me wonder whether I've been working for him or for the nomads the whole time. And fourth. I'm wondering whether I should comm Auxesia concerning this. They aren't nice people, I'm aware, but I'd really like to find out if that scan Ezrael had told me about really was negative or not. Best would be if I heard it from their mouths, not his. After all, he can tell fairy tales to me all day long, apparently. He once told me to not trust him too much. There we go, then. I'm reluctant to reach out to Auxesia though, else I'd probably have already done it. My question would probably only raise counterquestions, and maybe it's better when they don't know that I know those people...
*Another sigh is audible.*
And last but not least, I think there's still this elephant in the room that needs to be talked about. Because ... *She makes a solemn, though ironic gesture with her arms.* ... I'm single again. Yes, we broke up. Was kind of inevitable, to be honest, and I saw it coming when John asked for a meeting after several weeks of no contact at all. *She sighs.* He didn't really help me, and I didn't really help him, mostly because I guess we just couldn't really. I could have used his help, though, at least from time to time. On the other hand, he couldn't have helped me much with all that anyways when I think about it. His sole presence is enough to make me freak out completely, and no I'm not exaggerating. I just can't stand that, when he's around me, he as a person just triggers so many bad thoughts and memories that it has become an impossibility to actually love him. *She sighs again.* I really wish it was different, but sadly it isn't. He asked whether we still could be friends and all that ... Jesus, John, if you just knew what's going on in my head, you would know that that's quite a lot to ask right now. As long as he only is a trigger for my memories, it will work out, surely not.
Maybe things will turn better soon. I just hope it.
*Shaking her head, she briefly glances into the camera for a lost second with narrowed eyes, then with a pinched smile would she end the log.*
*As Elena switches the log on and the camera begins to focus, she can be seen as she sits on her usual relaxing location - her white couch, her legs tucked up on top of it. She is wearing a rather comfortable white T-shirt and sweatpants, obviously she made it herself as comfortable as possible. There is nothing even close to her that could be interpreted as alcohol, and instead of swinging a cup of coffee in her hand, she wrings her hands somewhat tensely, but definitely not as though she was feeling Death creeping up behind her. Her haircolour, judging from colour depth, has to be pretty fresh. All in all, despite her keeping a very, almost overly neutral countenance on her face that doesn't offer a hint about what she is thinking as she stares in the camera, she looks a lot healthier than last time she has put her face before the camera. The sickly paleness she had had on her skin, as if she had put too much make-up on it, was completely gone and had made place for her typical, though still pale skin colour again. Laying the TV remote aside, she takes a deep breath and shoots a toothy smile towards the camera.*
Hello there! Remember me? It's me again. *Her smile grows continuosly wider as she speaks.* Hell, I've got to tell you, it feels like it has been an eternity. And since I've looked into my past recordings a bit only a few minutes ago, I can actually tell that it has been a god-awful long time. More than three months, if I have counted it correctly. It really didn't feel like it's been so much time since I've last opened up this log. To be honest, I can't even clearly remember anymore why I have stopped with it at some point suddenly. I've got a bad notion about why I've done it, though. But generally there's been far too much happening lately that I could clearly remember. *She sighs quietly.* Matter of factly, if I recall what happened, it wasn't much that happened to me, actually. Or at least it might look like that from the outside. But in fact, a lot has happened. Even if a lot means mainly lounging on the couch and doing nothing. Because there can still happen a lot even if you lounge on a couch. But before I forget it, and I swear it would've almost happened that I forgot:
Happy New Year.
*As she bursts out into a little laughter, she claps her hands once.* Okay, good that this is over now. To be honest, I didn't celebrate this New Year's Eve at all. I usually do, but this time it somehow just ran past me without me even noticing. Even took me a few days to realize a new year had started. Oh well, anyways. I'm kinda running off at the mouth. Though I gotta say, it feels weird, to stare into a camera and talk to oneself or to the camera. I never really realized how weird that actually is. Looking back now, I should've known well enough that something wasn't alright with me.
*She looks down at her lap for a second as she begins to wring her hands again. A single strand of hair falls into her face, with one hand she pulls it back behind her ear again.*
Before I start with anything here, I perhaps should get one thing straight. No matter what I'm about to say now, I swear I won't burst out into tears this time. You don't believe me? Man, I had several months to let all of them run free down my cheeks, at some point there are just none left anymore. If I remember correctly, I've hit that point somewhen in the middle of December; I mean the point when I wasn't physically able anymore to shed any amount of tears, even if I wished. And believe me, I've never wished to shed any at all. Now, either I could go on rambling and rambling and rambling and come to the point approximately thirty minutes later, or I keep a very, very long and frustrating and nerve-stretching story as short as I can. Since I doubt you, dear log, want to hear much of it - see, I'm already talking like I was talking to somebody again. How crazy actually am I? Anyway, since you don't want to hear much of it, I assume, and since I want anything but dwell on it too much, I'll keep it short. Ain't gonna give a promise, because I've got the slight suspicion I wouldn't be able to keep that one, even if I tried.
Before anything else, let me tell you: I'm over it. Okay?! *She raises her eyebrows.* I'm bloody-well over it. Over everything. Okay, this might be a tiny lie, but at least it's only a tiny one, right? What I wanna say is: I've spent those three months in a good way, by which I mean I've coped with it. The accident, I mean. Yeah, exactly that accident. *She purses her lips for a tiny moment.* As I said, I won't get deeply into it this time. I've gotten all the more deeply into it the last few times, from what I've seen while I skimmed through the last logs. It already got me back into exactly what I felt back then. Which isn't a good sign. I'm just so glad the nightmares and all that bad stuff has gone by now. *She pauses.* Okay, they haven't vanished completely, but at least considerably. At times I've still got a bad dream about it, and then I wake up dripping with sweat like I've seen a ghost, but that's about it. I can go to sleep again without having to be constantly afraid of those dreams I had a while ago. And the most important thing: the images are gone too. I mean those images that have been welling up before my eye every now and then during daytime. That really was the worst of it all. The absolute worst. And it's gone now. Don't ask me how or why, it's not like I've done a special traumatic therapy to deal with those bits of memory. But they became less and less over time, somehow. To be honest, I could've never imagined they would ever do that. I can still remember how I was absolutely sure it was only getting worse for me. In some sense, I was right about it. But maybe I should have listened to all those people who constantly told me: *She imitates somebody with a lower-pitched voice.* "Just give it some time". I thought that to be bullshit back then. Some stereotypcal crap they tell you when they don't know anything else to say. But even though they probably didn't know anything else to say to it, they were kinda right about it. Hell, I wouldn't have known either what to say to myself back then.
However, speaking of therapies and the like...
You know this line that goes like "the night before dawn is the darkest"? Very romantic, I know, and somewhat cheesy if you ask me. And a year ago I would have also said this line is absolute garbage. That you can't be oh-so-sure about whether after the darkest times of night comes a dawn. There could also be death. Or even more darkness. You get what I'm saying? It's one of those things people say to cheer others up, but essentially it's non-sensical at best. Well, gues what. I've never thought I'd say that, but even this line has some truth.
There's that one thing I'd like to mention, one I don't like to talk about, but I feel like I should get it off my chest finally, because as far as I can remember I haven't told anybody so far about it. For the better, because it's nothing you'd like to tell people. *She fiddles about with her hair more nervously than before.* Or would you dare to tell anybody that you've actually, and God I hate to say that out loud, that you've actually attempted to kill yourself? *A short pause, than another handclap.* Well, so there's that. Yeah, I tried it. I still don't understand why I've even been so ignorant to try it, but it's the truth: I've attempted suicide. Neither can I remember what actually had happened beforehand ... just that I had the worst time of my life, apparently, and that it was as bad that I tried to end it in the dumbest way ever. You can call it luck ... or bad luck, however you wanna see it that I'm still here, amongst the living. Under usual circumstances, I'd be dead. Because it's not like I tried to hang myself or something. That would've been even dumber, because I know for a fact that that doesn't work most of the time. I actually tried to shoot a bullet into my brain.
It really is hurtful to say out loud, but... *she points at a little KSR droid in the back of her room, apparently recharging.* That little guy actually saved my life. How, you wanna know? Well ... you see, that droid is a nuisance. And when I had some of my worse days during those last few months, I wasn't holding back with my gun either when he got on my nerves too much. I've missed him most of the times, though, that's why he's still working. More or less working. In anyway, it was pure luck that I hadn't realized I had used up my magazine on this droid when I put the gun against my head. It made click and nothing happened. I can't remember much of the rest, only the morning after that.
That's when I realized solemnly I needed help, as in professional help, or else I'd probably be dead in a couple of weeks. Because if I knew one thing back then, then that I wouldn't have the luck of an empty magazine the next time I had a really bad time again. So I went and searched for some help. And found that. A person called John Henry Holliday. Looking back, I really can't say for sure what kind of doctor he actually is ... at least he didn't make the impression of a professional psychotherapist to me, but honestly it didn't matter. Perhaps it was just the placebo, or the fact that he didn't seem to have a clean slate either when I met him on his estate. Yeah, he actually invited me onto his private estate. No clinics, no white rooms, no doctors in white clothes, thank God. That'd have been the last thing I'd have needed back then.
*She shakes her head again slowly, as if she is remembering parts of what had happened again. However, a smile steadily crawls upon her face. Tucking the legs a bit closer to the rest of her body, she faces the camera again.*
He helped me a lot. Not in the way you'd have probably imagined, though. I mean, yeah, we were sitting on couches and talking and so on and so forth, but honestly, that wasn't really what helped. In fact, I can remember how I went crazy once or twice during our talk. It felt like I had to pour salt into a wound when I talked with him about everything that happened to the baby. *She looks down and scratches her neck, straitened.* In the long run however, I'm pretty sure it was exactly the right thing to do, even though it did hurt, and even though I felt like I'd die from mental exhaustion once or twice during our time together on his estate. I'm actually still impressed over his guest-friendship. That he offered me to do that therapy on his own estate, which, I'm not kidding, was pretty luxurious as well. Not that I really cared about it back then, I was just happy it wasn't a bloody hospital he put me in.
Yeah, well in any way, we had a few talks, he introduced me to a few orphan children who were housed not far away from his estate. Probably, it was all part of his therapy plan, because believe me, it wasn't easy at all to look those children into their little eyes. Reminded me of so much stuff that had happened. I can't really remember whether I'd have almost bursted out into tears again, but I could imagine I did, judging by my mental state back then. But it was relieving at the same time. At some point, something inside me made click, so to say. Sounds dumb, I know, but I can't really describe it otherwise than to say it just "made click". Admittedly, I guess he had to hammer a lot of truths into my head, and I'm pretty sure that was neither easy nor fun for him.
Seriously now though, he's helped me a damn lot with everything. Gave me a few of life, well, how to call it, "little truths", if you wanna call it that way. Above all that you can't forget, no matter how much you try to achieve that. I mean, look at me. I've literally spent up to three months trying to forget, and you know exactly how it all turned out that way. Alcohol, nightmares, break-ups, and not to forget that pistol against my head. Yeah.
*She sits up a little more straight on the couch and looks straight into the camera with a well-nigh blank stare, as if she was at a lack of words all of a sudden. Licking her lips, her gaze wanders around, but catches the camera again finally.*
I wouldn't say I've already drawn a line under everything, that would probably be far too early to state, but it feels like I'm on a good way. It's a lot better bearable by now, if anything. Seriously, I can call myself glad when all these disasters ... yes, I'm not only talking about the baby ... aren't pestering me the whole time. That's already something. Something you can build up on, I try to think. Might need some time, as people used to tell me over and over again. But at least I've finally, kinda realized that the can't be changed. I still wished it could be, but all we can do is make the best out of what you still got, right? Right.
*She halts for a second as she pulls another strand that had fallen in her face back. Her glance wanders down.*
Maybe I should note that John called once or twice the last few weeks. Yeah, he did that, after everything that happened. I'm still not sure if I shall find it something like "cute" or better "obnoxious". Like, he just asked me how I am. Isn't he really able to guess that by himself, goddammit? I honestly can't believe that, for that you'd need to have an extra dumbness that he doesn't happen to have. Perhaps it's some sort of remorse, come to think of it. I mean, look at it, if I remember everything correctly he pretty much left me all alone after what happened at the hospital. Even if he wasn't able to do anything else because of his, you know, "state of mind" or whatever, he could've at least tried to help me out just a little. I'd have really appreciated that.
It's been some time since we've had contact, it pretty much died off after I clarified that I'm fine. See what I'm talking about? *With a lower voice.* Hey, I just quickly wanted to check by, wanted to know if you're alright. You are? Fine, alright, bye. *With her usual tone of voice again.* But what am I complaining? When I think of it, actually I wouldn't have wanted anything else of him, so actually I'm fine about it.
Alright, in anyway, I've got a few things I should try to get into again. It's been an awful lot of time since I've flown around the last time. With which I mean -really- flown around, not just checking by briefly to make sure everything is still the way I remember it before everything went complete downhill. I've got the bad feeling there isn't much the same way anymore, to be honest, but I'll have to lump it and make the best out of it, once again, I guess. I've seen some really weird comm signals on the Neural Net yesterday or so, concerning the current Core Guildmistress. Apparently she got captured. For my part, I couldn't care less. A kidnapped infectee is a good infectee, right? But she sent an emergency signal coming from Coronado, not far away from Glendalough. Which means she is, like what, right next door? The emergency message says something about Silverstone, which is even weirder. Maybe I'll manage to get myself a little more informed on what the hell is actually going on there, or rather here, for real.
Also, there are a ton of people I would wanna talk to right now, but in fact, I don't really know about what. Just about everything, probably, to get it over with, I guess. Like with Ezrael. I remember he offered me a talk when I wanted to talk, with some apples and cartoons and whatnot. Maybe it's time to bring that up again at some point.
Jesus, I swear it's become really weird to just keep on talking and talking to a freaking camera. Feels so asocial, in a weird kind of way.
*Blinkingly she reaches for the off-switch button and deactivates the log.*
