Halloween

It has literally taken me all night to write this. I keep getting interrupted by guisers. Currently, I'm dressed as the grim reaper, but I'll maybe say more about that further down the page.

So, October's just about finished. No snow yet. I suppose it should be comforting, but I have a feeling it means we're in for a hard time in November. It's gotten colder. It's too cold for me to go out running in the mornings anymore, and it's usually dark by the time I get home.

I've seen people in masks all day. Not so much during the light hours, and there were only a few this morning. When I was coming home, it looked like someone in a scream mask was following me, but I managed to lose them by going into Tesco (if they were even following me at all, and not just heading there to pick up some eggs).

College was much the same as usual. The kitchen was back in operation (you know, funny thing, they use the cookery students as kitchen staff), so there can't have been too much damage. There was some sort of charity/business thing down in the cantine/social area, but I usually don't pay them any attention.

I'm missing my Mum. I keep happy when I'm with my friends, and being with them does help my mood, but the pain's slowly getting worse again. My random hallucinations aren't as jovial as they usually are, either (although that tends to happen around late autumn anyway - I think it's to do with the lack of sunlight).

Susan keeps making me angry. She keeps suggesting that I should try and join the Slender Man's side. "Afterall, our Mum obviously wasn't trustworthy. Perhaps her death was for the best." She also seems to have this perverted crush on him. And when I try to argue with her, she keeps trying to conivnce me that it's the only way I'll find out what really happened.

Usually I can turn to Pete in times like this. He's usually such a source of calm and reason. Even he seems worried.

At least I still have Liam. The paranoia's getting worse, though. I know nothing has actually happened to me, and if Slender Man was responsible for the fire then I'd most probably be dead. Maybe it's all just coincidence. I've had a lot of encounters with strange coincidences. Sometimes I know things I shouldn't. And sometimes I'll say something completely random and it happens. I remember I once happily predicted a die roll ten times in a row. It was back when I felt like life was a game, just a big construct for me to play in. Now I remember that, and other things like it, and it shocks me. I can only put it down to coincidence. For instance, since then I'm lucky if I can guess a die roll twice out of six throws.

Anyway, I'm rambling. Dad spent most of the day making up treat bags for the guisers. We get a lot of them round our bit. Our street seems to have a reputation for going over-the-top with decorations (pumpkin garlands on trees, for example). I like dressing up. I don't think I've ever been guising, but I've been dressing up and handing out sweets for the past three years. I like my grim reaper costume because it obscures my face.

I even do an act for them. I talk in a soft, deep voice, and tell them if they entertain me enough then I'll consider letting them live for another year. The jokes are usually rubbish, although you sometimes get a gem (which is then used the next year by almost everyone), and one year a larger group of kids performed a whole song and dance routine!

Anyway, it's nearly time for bed, yet again. We're not likely to have any more visitors, and I'm pretty much tired out. Time to feast on left-over sweeties and monkey nuts.

Grrr...

The internet decided to fail me again. Ah well, worse things happen in space. (or was it at sea?) I managed to save what I'd written last night as a word document, but before I post it, I'd like to share something that happened today.

This morning, after breakfast, I had some free time so I decided to see if there was anything good on CBBC. (And I'd like to take this opportunity to say that Young Dracula is awesome!)

Anyway, I was watching the telly (sitting next to the window) when I noticed a daddy long-legs (crane fly) trying to get out. So I did what any true gentleman would do and opened the window. It flew straight out the window (on it's on initiative, I didn't need to coax it or anything) and into a spider's web. All but one of its six legs was trapped, and it struggled gallantly, even managing to free one of its legs, but eventually it fell still, and its captor (a 2cm, round, fat, garden spider) approached. Upon seeing the spider, the daddy long-legs again started to struggle, but it was too late. The spider climbed on top of its prey, and the struggling ceased. I watched as it carefully wrapped up the bundle. (It was a surprisingly tight package, especially considering the length of those legs.) It then painstakingly removed the package from its surroundings and carried it to a place near the web's anchors, and began repairing the web where it was broken.

I've been thinking about it a lot today, and I feel it illustrates the nature of life. Death could come any second. We struggle so hard to make our lives work, to find meaning and purpose and comfort. Sometimes I think it's the struggle that defines us. We are who we are, and we live to fight against the constraints and dangers of the world we live in. But again, we don't know the future. A meteorite (or a plane, or anything really) could fall out of the sky and kill me this instant. It's unlikely (and I don't think meteorites have ever killed a human being) but there's no universal law that says it couldn't happen.

But as I was saying, life is a series of little hurdles. Some of them we cross, some of them we don't. And some of them are more vital than others. Take that crane fly. It was struggling against a barrier it couldn't see. Then, in a random act of kindness on my part, I took away the barrier and in its last moments of freedom it tasted fresh air again. But a second later it was trapped again, and this time, death came quickly.

And on that note, here's what happened yesterday:

Something freaky happened today. I said I wasn't going to let paranoia ruin my life, and I'm sure this is just coincidence (and a pretty loose connection at that), but still, the what-ifs are driving me ... crazier?

Heh, you might already know I had a Physics test today. If not then, I had a Physics test today. It was first thing, and I finished early so I decided to log on and see if anyone had updated (after I finished my sandwich of course ^_^). I only had time to post one comment before A joined me (and I can't let my friends know I have a blog). B was soon to follow, and we still had half an hour before Maths so we decided to surf YouTube (with all the hillarity/conflict you would expect). In fact, I think I'll share this classic with you before I carry on:



So we stayed on the computer until around five minutes before class was due to start. Just as we got upstairs (all my classes are on the second floor, despite there being classrooms on the first and third floors) the fire alarm went off.

Now, my college has a strange alarm. It's basically a calm, authoritative (= male English), voice saying that an alarm's gone off, people have been sent to check it, and we might have to evacuate. At least, that's the first-stage alarm. (Until today I hadn't heard the second stage, and I'd only heard the first stage because they test the system every Friday in the middle of Chemistry.)

We waited at the top of the stairs for a few minutes, looking out the window (we were right above the front door), waiting to see if it would switch off or change. Eventually we saw people leaving the building en masse, but the alarm was still repeating the same message. We didn't know what to do, so we decided to go downstairs to see what was happening. When we got to the first floor, we found that the alarm had changed to the same calm, authoritative (= male English), voice now saying that it was an emergency and we should "please evacuate the building".

When we got to the ground floor, the smell was rancid - reminiscent of burnt orange peel. We were ushered out by safety officers and had to make our way to the park behind the college. We weren't able to see if any fire engines turned up, but twenty minutes later we were once again climbing two flights of stairs to get to Maths. And as it turned out, the second floor hadn't had an order to evacuate, and everybody else was sitting in class.

Nobody there was sure if it was intentional, and I'm not likely to find out without sounding paranoid and/or obsessive. Apparently the kitchen went on fire. [I don't know how extensive the damage is, but the cantine was closed for the rest of yesterday (wed) and today (thurs).] The freaky thing is, my Maths classroom is right above the kitchen (well, two floors above).

None of us on the second floor were in any danger, and it was only by chance that A, B and I were evacuated, but it's freaked me out nonetheless. I don't know what to make of it.

Grumbling

So going for a run about an hour and a half before sunrise might not have been the best idea given recent circumstances, but I refuse to rearrange my life on account of paranoia. And anyway, I wasn't tackled by any random proxies, so I suppose that's a plus.

Taking that into account, as well as the lack of fruit from my hyper-awareness, I don't think I'm being watched. It's a relief, I suppose.

I don't know. On the one hand, I'm glad I don't have to constantly worry about my safety, but on the other, how will I ever find out what happened to my mother?

I said, at the time, that I didn't want her to be gone for such a trivial reason as a blood clot, but I'm not sure I agree with that anymore. I just want to know what happened. Is that too much to ask?

On the more domestic side of things, I'm back at work now, my Dad's joined one of the church's house groups, and college has me as busy as ever. We've started studying Cuckoo's Nest in earnst (it was broken up a little by essay deadlines and tests) and if I get the time I might tell you what I (and maybe some of my assosciates) thought of it. Apparently after Christmas we'll be studying Romeo and Juliet. I don't know much about the plot, but I do know that they die at the end (despite what the garden gnomes may tell you).

The Results of a Lot of Thinking

I've been running today. I needed to get things sorted out in my head.

I didn't sleep very well last night. I suppose that's to be expected with having a late-afternoon nap, though.

Oh look, I'm already making light of the situation. How droll. (not)

All this time, I was reading these blogs, keeping up with events hundreds of miles away, and now I find out he's been here all along. How could I have been so blind? Looking back, there were signs. Stress, well, the stress could have been anything. But she was afraid to go into the woods. She knew. Why didn't I notice?

And what happens now?  What has been happening? I was sure of myself. I was finally managing to figure out what the world was like. Now I realise how very far out of the loop I was - still am.

-Calm yourself, Barb. Melodramatic imagery won't get you anywhere closer to understanding what on earth is happening.-

I know what I'll do, I'll ask future-Barb. (Something I do when I'm stressed about something that I can't possibly know the answer to is to write it down for my future self to answer when she finds out.)

Right then. Questions for future-Barb:

• How did my mother discover Mr. Tall?
• Was she being followed?
• Was her death natural causes, or was she murdered?
• Why would she draw an operator symbol at the back of her diary?
• Am I being watched?
• Has he been watching me ever since I was a child?
• Is it all my fault?

Okay, that should be enough for now. I'll try and concentrate on other things and leave the questions on my left hand, so-to-speak.

I just hope I can keep this all from Dad. He's already a little suspiscious, so I can't let on that anything's the matter.

I threw up.

I think I'm going to stay in bed for the rest of the afternoon. Pete's keeping me company. I've got a small fever and I feel all weak and shaky.

I'll be checking my laptop every-so-often, just in case any of you are reading. Please, if you're awake and you're reading this just now, what do I do? Has he been watching me all along? Is just coincidence, that he was stalking my Mum, that I saw him when I was younger?

I looked out my window earlier. I couldn't see anyone apart from Liam. He's inside now. I couldn't let him stay out there. I'm probably just being paranoid.

I might try to sleep. This is too much. Whatever the truth is, it changes everything.

*gulp*

Alright, this is... I'm scared.

Me and Dad decided it was time to start going through Mum's old things and deciding what to do with all of it. At first it was almost painful to look at, but once we started going, the items began triggering happy memories, and the mood became lighter. I think it was really doing us good.

But then Dad unearthed Mum's work diary. He was on the other side of the room, flicking through it, looking at the number of appointments that would have been cancelled. ("There's even one in December!") But then suddenly he said "Hey Barb, come look at this."

He looked puzzed.

He'd flipped to the back of the diary. There was a list of holidays that she'd marked in pen, but it had been scribbled over with two pencil drawings.

One of them was an operator symbol. The other was Mr Tall himself.

My Dad asked me what the symbol was. I was almost too shocked to talk. I'm still shocked. I had to think fast. I told him it was the tensor product symbol and it's used in Maths, so she must have been talking to someone about a Maths problem.

He accepted my answer but still looked puzzled. Mum wasn't into doodling. I think he was suspicious. We carried on, but I felt so sick and dizzy and scared. I managed to keep my cool for several minutes, but eventually I couldn't take it any more. I had to get to my laptop without him getting suspicious. I let myself go slowly, so it looked like I was turning funny. I told him I didn't feel too good and ran into the bathroom. I sat on the toilet for a while and making groaning noises, and when I came out I said I thought I needed a rest and ran to my room.

I went straight for my laptop and I've been typing this since. I don't know what to do. Everything's been flipped. My life ... I thought I knew what my life was like. But my Mum obviously knew about the Slender Man. Was she being stalked? Is that why she's gone?

What's happening?!

The Funeral

It's strange, taking into account the amount of rain we get, that whenever there's a funeral, it often stays dry. I suppose it would make sense that pathetic fallacy doesn't work in the real world, but the weather always seems to go actively out of its way to be unatmospheric. (and no, the irony of that comment wasn't lost on me)

I'm sorry I couldn't get this up earlier, the Laptop of Doom decided to live up to its name again. On top of that I've got a lot of work to do for college. It's supposed to be the holidays, for goodness sake! Anyway, mimi-rant over, time to move onto a slightly bigger rant.

The funeral was probably what you would expect. We met at the church (mostly so that everyone could find it, and so it was a central point, partly so we didn't have to have people round at the house), the minister said a quick prayer of strength for us, and then we drove to the crematorium. There were quite a few people there, mostly people who knew us from church. There was a short service and my Dad gave a eulogy, then we headed back to the church for a bite to eat.

It was when me and Dad were welcoming people into the crematorium, that I noticed my old psychiatrist in the line. My initial internal reaction was one of fear, then anger. I suppose I should go into more detail on the backstory here. I haven't seen him since I was a child. In fact, since just after that time I tried to go back to school (I think it's in my second introduction post, hang on, I'll go look for it - here it is ). He's the one who tried putting me on various medications that just made my symptoms worse. I had to spend time as an in-patient, it got so bad. My hallucinations weren't as vivid during that time, I'll give him that, but they were much more disturbing and I lost the ability to think clearly. From near the beginning my Mum tried to convince him to use CBT instead, but it was only after it seemed like he'd tried all the medicines in the book (seriously, in total there was around ten of them, and they left me with side-effects that aren't all gone) that he finally stopped drugging me. I was sent back to school once I was able to repel my delusions and understand that my hallucinations were just hallucinations. But then I met Liam and my peers decided they didn't like me after all. Shortly after that my Mum managed to get me discharged into her care (I don't know how she managed it, but I don't care, words can't express how relieved I was when she told me I wasn't going back). I was pretty messed up after everything that had happened, but she worked with me (and so did Dad, to a certain extent, since he was the one who stayed home with me) and I am who you see (or don't) today.

But back to what made me annoyed. For the sake of my naming scheme, I'm going to call him Dr. D, just in case I need to mention him in the future (hopefully not). He's old. Even older than my Dad (who I hope never reads that comment - sorry Dad!). He retired a few years ago, but evidently he still keeps in contact with the other staff, or he wouldn't have turned up.

So now you understand why I felt like that when I saw him. The only times I saw him and my Mum together were when they were talking (or more accurately disagreeing) about me, and from the occasional comment she made at the dinner table, I gather she didn't agree with his approach.

I had to fight to keep my face straight as he shook my hand. I just wanted to slap him, or punch him, or just yell "WHAT THE F*** DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING HERE!?". Unfortunately my Dad was aready trapped talking to an obstinate church elder, so he couldn't come to my rescue. Our conversation went a little like this:

Dr D: I was so shocked when I heard what happened. She was always so full of life.
Me: Yeah, it was a real shock. She was fine one day, then she was just ... gone.
Dr D: She was a great doctor, the service is going to miss her.
Me (thinking): So finally you admit you're not the ultimate genius of the universe. You were nothing compared to her.
Me (aloud): I'm sure they will.
Dr D: How are you coping?
Me: We're doing alright. It's difficult sometimes, but we've been supporting each other as much as we can.
Dr D: That's good. I remember when my wife died. The whole family almost fell apart. It was a nightmare.
Me: Oh. What brought you back together?
Dr D: *shrugs* We got a dog, and looking after it was such a task that we forgot to argue with each other. *he chuckles*
Me: *looks over at Dad, who is still talking to that elder* Heh. Well, Dad already has me to look after, and I'll be looking after him as well now.
Dr D: *smiles* Good good. Oh, and how are your symptoms nowadays?
I could have punched him. Our church friends know about my "mental illness", but what if they didn't?
Me: *smiles sweetly* Oh, they're still vivid, but not nearly as disturbing as they used to be. I don't let them trouble me.
Dr D: That's good to hear.
He looked almost relieved to hear that. Could it be he actually feels remorse for what he did to me? Perhaps he was just telling himself "see, you didn't mess that little girl's life up after all".
Dr D: And you're managing to fit into society?
Me: Yes, actually, I'm at college this year. And I've got a job.

I couldn't help myself - I'm sure a little bit of pride sneaked its way into my voice. My mind was gloating. Despite everything he'd taken away from me, I've still managed to find a way to live. I'm paving my way into society one slab at a time and nothing can stop me.

Dr D: That's amazing. *his face softens* You really are a testament to her memory.

At this point, the chapel was ready so we started filing in. I was glad to get away from him, but he was right. I wouldn't be where I was without my Mum, and I hope I can do her justice while I'm here.

After the service there was an obligatory shaking of hands again as people came out. When it came to Dr. D's turn again he offered his condolences one last time, said he was sorry that he wouldn't be able to make it to the lunch. And then he gave me his phone number. He said to give him a phone I ever felt like I needed some advice or support, or even just for a little chat.

I knew then exactly what I was going to do with that phone number, and it hasn't left my sock drawer since.

There were two more of my Mum's colleagues at the funeral. I was talking to one of them at the church afterwards. He'd met my Mum and sat in on some of her consultations when he was a student, so he knew what she was like with the patients. He told me that she was sympathetic and understanding, unlike the slightly apathetic style that was more common among psychiatrists at the time (apparently), and she made an effort to connect with them. From what he said it seemed like they got on well. I'm glad she made friends, but I'm also sad that there's more people she's had to leave behind.

Anyway, it's way past my bed time, even for the holidays. Night night!