An analysis

Okay. Let's break down this piece of shit.

Top left of the page has the REQUIEM's symbol, surrounded by "lies" "only lies" and "He speaks lies".
Under it, we see "He watches from up close. The heardl (herald?) of death. He offers an apple to end it all."

Top right has "Ripped from my life. Stolen from everything." Underneath is the CONDUCTOR's symbol, with "He watches from afar. Holding the past in line. IT IS ONLY INEVITABLE. Only inevitable. Inevitable. Unstoppable."

Next to that, we have DECRESCENDO's symbol. To the left, there is "Such beautiful songs." And to the right, there is "They watch the progress. They instill the catalysts. They note the symptoms and the patterns. Even now, they're watching."

Below that, we have a long fucking thing that goes "They sing of the past, of their glories. They sing of the present, of suffering and betrayal. They sing of death and its sweet embrace. They sing of the future, of things which should not be. Dear God, make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop... (etc.)"

The other side has only "They don't like me writing this. Well, fuck them. They don't like it, they can deal with it." and then it turns into the scribbling that I saw in the other two pages from earlier. I thought I would be able to make some sense out of it after some rest, but it still seems like more crazy rambling to me...

Bullshit from beneath the printer

Chelsea thought that we could try cleaning up the house. She thought it might help me stop thinking about all this shit. I got the computer room, of course, since I spend a good bit of time here now.

I found something while cleaning. Under the fucking printer. Not sure why it was there, not sure I want to know what was going through my head when I put it there, but it was there. Perfectly hidden under my printer...

Seriously, did I think I'd be able to FIND it there? Who hides shit under the PRINTER?

I'm still a bit put-off by the thought that I once had the idea to hide something under the goddamn printer. Anyway, putting it up here, since you guys seem to be at least partially interested in this shit.

And the back side:

At first glance, I see those symbols again, and some examples of why I work over the telephone. Also, I can see that my handwriting seems to degrade into the incoherent scribbling that covered the papers I had when I passed out.

Too tired now to even bother with these. I might come back later and offer a translation, if you need it.

Differences

Alright. Here's what I remember from last night. I was at the computer when the 10 p.m. mark hit. The whispers started, and they seemed fairly "normal." There was the regular whispers I had heard since day 1 of this ordeal, a few new phrases found their way into the mix, but I think I read them before, in other stories pertaining to the Choir. "Let the language lead you" was used a lot, sort of in the background, behind the "normal" whispers. I had enough time to transcribe a whisper or two before the pills kicked in at around 10:05. Right when I had planned it.

Chelsea says she saw things a little differently. According to her, I immediately started typing once 10:00 came around. And I didn't stop until 10:15. She was looking the entire time as I typed up that post, and can vouch for its authenticity. I didn't speak a word, I seemed completely normal, I sat there for about 10 minutes longer than I should have, calmly typing out whatever that was. Then I suddenly shut down completely.

Yeah... So that was interesting. Not sure what to believe, but the evidence seems to back up Chelsea's claim. I think I'm done with messing with the whispers for a while now...

This was a bad idea.

A very, VERY BAD IDEA.

The voices. In tandem, in cacophony. Singing the praises only they know how to sing.

Would you like to help us, Mr. Blake?
Peter was a good kid
It's us or the cell. Frankly, I don't see the choice here.
I wonder what happened to him
Oh don't worry. We've done this literally hundreds of times. It won't hurt a bit.
Mom, where's Peter?
A room, big, brown. Full of children listening to the professor. Another room, smaller, white, only ten or so people in this one. Another room, bigger, smells like formaldehyde.
Remember, remember, the fifth of November
Remember that smell? That sweet, awful smell?

The compound seems to have some minor side effects. While the results are generally what we expected, it seems that the compound has a tendency to cause disruptions in neurons in the frontal lobe in these quantities. The cells become unable to make connections on their own.

A voice over the intercom, I can't register what it says. I hear my name, and the doctors seem happy.

A plan

Goddamn it, I hate it that they're STILL talking about me being a schizo. I'm not even that surprised that they found out, but they found out so goddamn QUICKLY. And they won't shut up about it! The gossip hens can keep a subject alive for a couple of weeks, but it usually dies down after that. They don't seem to be stopping with this! Fuck, I'm going to hate these next couple of weeks more than usual, won't I?

As for my other problems, it's been REALLY quiet lately. I'd say uncannily quiet, but all I have to go on are all your stories, and I can't tell if they're the norm or not, or what can even be classified as "normal" in these godforsaken circumstances. Anyway, I've been avoiding being conscious during what seems to be the "hot hours" of 10 p.m. - 6 a.m. I've timed taking the sleeping pills so I'm out before 9:45, which puts me well ahead of what was the beginning of that damned whispering.

Which brings me to this idea. I haven't heard anything since that one big freak-out. I mean, the only things I could POSSIBLY attribute to the Choir at this point is my coworkers' comments and the weird, little shits going on this blog (seriously, if somebody has any idea how to keep the Choir from messing with my posts, it'd be greatly appreciated, because that's fucking annoying). But I'm not yet going to pin the gossip on them yet... This seems to be the normal gossip rounds so far... Anyway, I don't know if the whispers changed, or if they even stopped altogether. So I've got this plan. I'm going to take the pills a bit late. No more than 20 minutes. I'm going to expose myself to the whispering just long enough so I know what's changed since the freak-out.

Who knows? Maybe it'll be safe for me to be up past 10 now. God I hate having a bedtime... Anyway, the plan is to have this site up around that time, and I'll try my best to post my thoughts before the pills knock me out completely. That way if something happens I'll have a firsthand account to read from tomorrow.

A delayed response

It's been rather quiet lately. I've been keeping to the regiment of sleeping meds, and I haven't experienced any hallucinations in the past few days. The Paradox guy seems to think things are going to start going downhill, though.

I've been thinking a lot lately, and I've decided that I'm going to put that post up about my family that I promised the docs a while ago. It'll give me something to focus on for a while, at least.

My mother was a good woman. She took care of me and my three brothers after my dad left when I was five. I never really knew him all that well, and I'm sure by this point that he's long dead. Mom was a simple person, and cared for all of us the best she could. She couldn't really afford to send us to an amazing school, but she handled the child support money well enough so we could eat, sleep and learn without worries. Of course, I never realized this at the time. As a child, I felt that we were being cheated out of a good life. At one point, I gathered the idea that God was to blame for our troubles. At another, I blamed our father. I didn't realize how lucky we were to actually have a house and food and an education. I thought for the longest time that Mom wasn't doing enough to better our situation, and it took me a while to learn that she was doing all she could. She's a great person blessed with enough good sense to know what she needs to do and how her children needed to be raised.

My brothers were named Benjamin and John. Ben was a year younger than me, and we didn't really get along very well. Whatever I liked, he hated. And whatever he liked, I hated. We would constantly get into fights in home and at school, and neither one of us could stand to be around the other. Ben was the brother I knocked out last year at the family reunion. He's the reason I ended up starting therapy.

John is our youngest brother. He was a year old when Dad left, and I think the reason he left was because he couldn't handle the thought of raising four kids. He's the most timid of all of us. Ben and I were loud and outgoing, but he kept to himself a lot. He got along with the two of us much better than we got along with each other. When we were older, he became the mediator, settling our fights before punches were thrown. He was the only friend we had in common, and he's the only reason we go to the family reunions knowing the other brother would be there. He and Mom were the only level-headed people in the house, and so I guess Ben and I take more from our Dad...

I guess now's as good a time to talk about the reunion as any. The family reunion isn't necessarily the happiest of times in the year. Ben and I hate being around one another, and our aunts and uncles just seem to avoid us as best they can. They obviously don't think well of Mom for marrying Dad, having so many kids by him, and then just letting him leave. As such, they really don't like us, either. To them, we're as good as bastards. This past year, the mood hadn't changed at all. The reunion was as cold as ever. I don't quite recall what started the argument, but I remember how quickly it escalated. We were throwing punches long before John could intervene. I got a couple of good punches in on his temple, and dazed him. Three blows to the face and an uppercut later, and he was out cold. But I didn't let him fall. I grabbed his collar and held him there for an instant before throwing him on his head on the concrete below us. They called an ambulance, but I left the reunion before it could show... The next morning I got a call from my mother saying that I needed to get help... And that I wouldn't be allowed around my family until I did.

So here I am. I came to get help so I can see my family again, but I guess I wound up in a deeper mess than I thought possible...

What I learned in class today

I've just taken my sleeping pills, so I'll try to get this up before I pass out.

First of all, I didn't see the docs this week. They didn't call or email me, so I assume they are following this.

Next, I've done a lot of reading. So the Choir is a being that controls sound, and can manifest both as a shadow in the corner of your eye, and as a mold. The REQUIEM is sort of like the afterlife? Everybody who's died ends up with him as sort of a zombie. But the pills don't come from him. They come from his drug-dealing cultists. And then there's DECRESCENDO. The stories differed on exactly what he does, but the consensus is that he makes people sick. And that symbol is used by his followers.

I've also been talking with Chelsea about all this. She can see the symbols on the bottle, as well, so they must not be a hallucination. So I guess we have to at least entertain the idea that we're caught up in this.

So. Worst case scenario. We're being targeted by the three things above, at least. If that's the case, then chances are slim that we'll survive. Best case scenario is that I'm hallucinating all of this, and the docs read a lot of internet horror and have a sick sense of humor. However, I think neither of those options are true.

The most likely scenario is that we're (I'm) being targeted by the Choir and the followers of the other two. The REQUIEM doesn't really deal with the drug trading aspect of his cult. That's their own invention. Likewise, the only thing we can really be sure about is the docs' connection to DECRESCENDO. Not DECRESCENDO's actual involvement in all this. In any case, I haven't noticed any dead people walking around, nor do I feel particularly sick.

That brings me to my third point. After talking it over with Chelsea, we've decided that we can't start running. We've got jobs and we're not exactly in the best of conditions to suddenly be homeless. Also, if I'm actually getting targeted by the Choir, then I'm going to need money for sleeping pills, and if my condition gets worse, being out there will only make it even more worse.

The pills are starting to kick in, so I've gotta end this. Long story short, we're hoping that the Choir can be confined to me, and that that third scenario is the one that's really happening. We can make this work somehow.