9/3/40-

Can’t remember much from last night. Maybe I should be used to it by now. It’s not like it’s ever going to change. I don’t need to leave the apartment to know this isn’t normal. Shit, why am I so tired?

No matter how many times I read the old journal it still doesn’t make any sense. It’s as if suddenly, last January, it all disappeared. Maybe someone did take them from me. As soon as it switches to code, I don’t have a chance at understanding it.

Why was I hiding?

I mean, I’m safe here, right? I would’ve moved if I wasn’t. Still, I get this feeling sometimes. Like someone’s watching me. Maybe I should really call the cops like Ms. Vega keeps telling me.

It’s not easy to think about how that’ll go. Even with the fractions I remember from last night today, I know that all I really can recognize is the past twelve hours. Who knows what they’ll refuse without record of what I’m feeling. Who knows if it’ll happen again. I don’t want another person treating me like I’m incapable of everything.

It’s not fair. I know how to fight, how to get myself to and from everywhere I need to go. I built these fucking codes by myself for months, and I guess they must’ve changed up a lot, cause I can only read the last few entries. I know how to code and how to repair everything I own, plus a million other things that get lost in the grayness after the memory loss.

I can take care of myself. Still, no matter what I say, they hover. I hate it. I just need some way to get out of this loop. One piece of the puzzle, and they could understand.

I could make them understand. The odds that I would find any piece of that puzzle were too low to feel any hope right now.

All I could do was keep myself as safe as I could be here.