Paranoia

It's surprising how debilitating it can be. It's been what, a week and a half since I've successfully updated this? Why do I suddenly care who or what sees what I'm writing here?

Because it is watching everything now.

Things are bad. Chelsea isn't in her right mind anymore, and I worry I'm not in mine, either. She's started talking to nobody for long stretches of time in our room. I tried listening in once, but I don't think I want to ever again. Whatever she's saying isn't in English, and I've long given up on determining where the obfuscation begins. Her rants sometimes last long into the night and I've taken to sleeping on the couch now.

The fact that I'm aware of all this must mean I still hold on to some shred of sanity. The fact I can still question my sanity must mean something similar. I'm not completely gone.

Being sane only makes it worse.

But I wonder how far off the breaking point is.

I'm still hearing voices constantly, and I'm still able to tune them out for the most part. I can't remember the last time I've used my voice or actually wrote something with pen and paper. All this I can live with, to an extent.

But the paranoia. This is new to me. Being rooted to the couch in fear for days on end because there's something out there watching me. Being seen no matter where I try to hide.

Having every movement under scrutiny.

No, this is the true hell.

And the Devil is your only judge.

CRITIC is closed for now. When it opens I do not know when it will close again. But I cannot do anything until it stops watching.
Because it sees this, and knows this blog is a crime against it. And crimes are meant to be punished.