Roses

Okay, it's been a while, so I apologize for not updating anyone on my incredibly interesting life.

Aside from talking to Chelsea, I've basically been sitting and watching TV, trying to figure out what is being said behind the Choir's interference. I've tried to have the TV off a couple of times, but sitting in complete silence doesn't help. There's this ringing that happens when you're in complete silence, I don't remember what it's called, but apparently the Choir can get at it, too.

I find the TV to be less annoying.

But yeah, I figured out how to communicate with Chelsea a little. Quick notes combined with plenty of hand gestures seem to work. I showed her this blog, and after a while, she calmed down enough to help me figure out what I need to do. I wonder if she believes that I'm being haunted by an annoying sound-ghost-thing, or whether she thinks I'm close to going off the deep end...

Chelsea took some time off work today to help me look for the Advisor's "roses." The place he talked about, "Grandmama's resting place," was a section of creek in a college town a couple of hours away. I don't know how I knew where it was, since I never really spent much time in this city, but I found the spot, and there was a bouquet of fake roses semi-hidden in the bushes, tied up in a plastic bag. Took less than a half hour of searching.

Anyway, Advisor's roses. They were fake, there were six of them, and they were held together with a loop of paper that turned out to be an envelope. The paper that was in the envelope was full of gibberish.  Not the scribble gibberish I write, but almost like dyslexia... I just sort of figured it was in code, and since I am utter crap at cracking codes, I'll go ahead and put it up here to see if any of you can translate it.

So yeah, Chelsea and I are "talking," and I'm happier with that. Not sure about her, though. Voices are still there, still just as annoying, and Advisor is still a weird fucking person that refuses to be of any real help. Same business as usual...

What is going on here?

I'm not really sure what's going on anymore. That Advisor guy says he's visited the town, and left flowers "on Grandmama's resting place."

He isn't talking about her grave. It's someplace completely different. I know exactly where he is talking about, but I have no idea why.

This place isn't connected with my grandmother at all. As far as I know nobody "rests" there. But for some reason, I KNOW that's where he's talking about. This isn't right, I don't remember being there very often, I don't recall anything happening there, I don't remember ever talking about that place, and yet I know that it is "Grandmama's resting place."

This doesn't feel right at all. It could be a trap. You could be working for the docs, and this could be some elaborate scheme to get me in a padded room, or under an operating table... But it's the only thing I can do. If I do nothing, I'll try something stupid again to try and get the old voices back. This, at least, will give me something to concentrate on... And a springboard to talk about this blog with Chelsea.

But I hope your roses won't wilt easily, because it's going to take a bit of planning to get there, Mr. Advisor...

An apology

So I haven't been quite clear with you all recently, and I apologize. My troubles were apparently a lot bigger than I gave them credit.

I've had a lot of trouble sleeping for the past week and a half. It wasn't that the Choir was keeping me awake, I just... forced myself to stay alert.

I spent a week and a half with little to no sleep, trying to rediscover the voices I used to hear, even though I knew what would probably happen if I found them...

I got a little unbalanced, I guess. Chelsea slipped some sleeping medication into my food a couple of days ago. I passed out for a full 20 hours. I woke up earlier this morning.

Chelsea's convinced me to go back on the sleeping pill regiment, at least until I can agree to go find better help. She wants me to go to a doctor, and I know I won't be able to do that. She's worrying more and more about me, and if I don't come clean to her soon, I'm worried she's going to force me to see a doctor. I just don't know how to go about doing this, though. Nothing seems to have worked so far.

It didn't work

Of course it didn't. What the fuck made me think this would work?

I've been trying for the past few days to write down what I know. I'd look at a page of text and drawings, and then I would blink and everything would be reduced to scribbles. I don't even know which vision is actually what I put on the damn paper. I tried to show Chelsea, but it looked like she didn't understand. So I guess this means she sees scribbles, too.

I've also noticed something. The voices, the Choir. They're different. The voices from before, the ones that only came up when I stayed up too late, they said different things. In different ways.
They spoke so prettily
They said things that couldn't possibly be true.
They spoke only the truth
They said things that drove me to beat myself until I forgot them. Or at least the most important parts.
The only parts that matter
These voices, coming from the weatherman and newscaster, aren't driving me to madness.
They have no need to
I feel perfectly fine when listening to them.
When the insomnia allows it
I've been searching for the voices I used to hear. They knew something, at least. These voices are just trying to get me to do stuff. no, for the last goddamn time, I AM NOT GOING TO KILL CHELSEA. God fucking dammit. No, these voices are annoying. The other ones were maddening, but at least they told me stuff. Useful stuff. I think. I don't know. Maybe it's the fact they knew SOMETHING, and actually were willing to tell me what it was. I don't even care if I go insane, I want to know what they're saying. Maybe they knew a way to get rid of the Choir? Who knows? Anything is better than sitting on my ass all day.
What goes around comes around. What comes up must come down. No amount of fire will burn the sins of your past away.