Sun, 6 p.m.
Oh, Jesus! I'm paying for last night and for the damned fish. Thank God it was too small to share, so no one else had any. It was bad and my fever is soaring. I've not slept at all. Charlie tried to get me to go to the ER. I refused. Now he now thinks I'm wanted by the law - it would be the truth. He wanted to stay, but I pushed him out. I was very unkind, but I'm afraid of what I might say. I'll tough it out. I'll be OK. I'll cling to those other times that I've made it through. This is all so silly, absurd - ongerijmd!
Bless Xena for the coat and blanket. I'm trying to write this between spasms of shivering and moments when I'm so hot on the inside that I want to rip off my clothes and tear my insides out. It is those moments that I must do something. I'm weak as hell, nothing left in me, but I've got to keep moving. I've got to keep doing. It's like some strange, hyperactive malady & I've nothing else to do but circle this room and write in this journal. I locked the door & hid the key - from myself. I walk and write, walk and write. I'm wasting the paper. I'd written 10 pp. both sides, minute script. I just reread it. It's nonsense - total nonsense - a mishmash of every language I know. Not since school have I inadvertently mixed languages. And there are some words that don't exist in any language I know. It's as if my brain is short circuiting. Am I going mad or is this hell? Shaking...... and this too shall pass.
~~~~~
I went to the mission - but some bizarre terror overwhelmed me. I'd wanted to confess. As I walked there, I'd planned to wait in the shadows beneath the choir loft's spiral stairs for confession hours. I'd thought to rest there a while and commune with St. Michael high in his niche in the reredos, swinging his sword that is the twin of my own. I'd thought to plead for intercession, though I'm not sure I believe. Ingrid does, but do they really help, or do they merely use and help only if it suits their needs? God gave us and them free will, and in return it is up to us to fight for the Light as best we may, and yet... why is the price always so high?
Suddenly, I realized that both Fr. Donovan and Fr. Beltran might recognize my voice. At the moment I cannot control my accent - my mind does not focus well enough, the pain in my neck distracts. I need to talk to someone - I have only this obscene tablet to open my soul to. I've never been an open person. My journal has always been my confident. But there was always someone to be a sounding board when my mind was in turmoil. I could always couch it in such a way as to make the discussion seem trivial. But when I got to Dolores St., I stood there in the grassy center median beneath the bell marking the El Camino Real. I held onto the steel post for dear life as I gazed across the street at the cathedral and the squat, little mission next door - almost as much Rayne history there as on Angel Island. I wanted the warm comfort of that place. I wanted the memories it holds. I wanted to sit in the bosom of the Light, of love, of family, of heritage, but I could not force my foot to step from the curb. I began shivering. My legs became water. I barely made it home. I feared more than once that I'd be on my knees in the gutter. Imagine the headlines then, and the feeding frenzy.
I've been hearing voices since - whispers, spoken words. I've heard voices before - part and parcel of my "Sight", but this isn't the same. They're all fearful voices, mutterings, horrible things - it's either hallucination from the fever (please God, let it be that) or Darkside temptation, insanity or possession. I tried plugging my ears, but it made the voices all the louder. Do I hear the voices of my fellow damned souls pleading, crying in their torment from the eternal Abyss?
Oh God.... did I surrender? Was I branded by my father's hand? Or was my soul poisoned from birth? Did his seed plant some demonic cancer that will overwhelm me? Or has it been my secret compass all along? Has my whole life been a charade, a masquerade by the Darkside, with me never knowing? I'm boiling inside & yet freezing - I want to scream. If I scream maybe I won't hear the voices any more. Dear God, will it pass?????
I must walk-----
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