Building 11 “Test Results”

“I gac=ve it my all, but it wasn't nearly enough.'

They nmoved aviyt ub wats,' U

I moved to try and break thinks up, but I am simply too tired.

I am going to rest and try again later.

DO=n't go anywhere.

He came to see me whe nI was sleeping.

I tried to get him to go away, but he had to get his fill.

His hands were ice, my skin still stinging and refusing to calm no matter how much I try to heat or not heat it. Everything in my arms hurt, and the doctors aren't sure if I will be able to keep all the skin.

We will just have to wait and see.

And hope that the wounds stay clean.

It started leaking a little while ago, buit the liquid was clear. It is a good thing I think.

He wasn't happy when he left. There was no smile on his face.

I reeked of pain and anguish, and he had to get his fill. But no matter how much he took, there was always some left over.

The Old Man...

Why did he have to come and see me?

The old one came. He came to claim.

The rot, the pain.

The hurt.

But he left puzzled

Confused

and angered.

He had fed well. As well as ever.

He left full.

But he hadn't gotten it all.

OI saw a thing in the skyu the other night. My head is in pain.

I can barely stand it. It looked at me...

I saw a thing in the sky.

He came because IO saw the thing in the sky. He tried to take it away from me. But it was…

He hurt me.

He hurt me.

He hurt me.

I am so tired, but I write all the same. If I stop, then it lingers in front of me, like a wacve...a wave of black, rising up, falling and tumbling over me.

So tired.

My wrists hurt.

So tired.

So tied

Tired.

He hurt

He hurt

He hurt

Why did it have to look back?”

No one has heard from the person who wrote this. They seem to have disappeared.

Some days I listen to recordings of the sound of storms; the waves of cold and the shrieking of the wind when it snows, the howl and the crack of thunder as the rain falls as thick sheets, echoing off the shingles of the roof.

Some days, most days, it is the rain I am seeking.

But not today.

Outside it is warm, and yet I wish to linger within the snows, and so I put on the sounds of winter and I let myself sink a little into it. It is an excuse to close my eyes and listen, to type without looking at what I am saying.

I love you, and I love my dad. But we can't seem to get things back to the way things were. My dad and I.

I told him about the test, asked him why he didn't tell me about it. I told him how upset I was, how there could be something really wrong with me, and that all these years I had some strange results from some odd test that could have at least informed some of the choices that were made.

He said that I wouldn't understand, that mom and him decided that I didn't need to know, and that they needed to get a second opinion. I pressed him on that, asked him what the next doctor found, but he admitted he lied. He lied to me right on the spot just so he wouldn't admit that he made a mistake.

I showed him the new scans I had taken, showed him the old damage to my brain that would have explained the feelings of disconnect and separation. These things would have made my life hurt so much less if he had simply told me, but instead I have always simply thought that my issues were my fault, that I needed to train my brain to get better.

I needed more sleep. I simply needed a good meal. I needed to read a little. And yet here I am, looking at these results, and it says clear as day that there are parts of my brain that appear to have been damaged and never recovered.

Oh and I asked him, but he refused to tell me the whys or hows. Something like that would be impossible to not know of. That sort of damage would at least suggest a trip to the hospital or something, but no.

I checked myself.

There is no evidence that they took me to the hospital at any point before they had gotten the scans all those years ago. And don't get me fucking wrong, it isn't as if there was anything they could have done, but I at least would have known.

I wouldn't have felt like I was the problem.

The doctor said that it seems to have worsened, but that otherwise the rest of my brain seemed okay. He assigned me some new medicine, and said that I should stick with the old ones as well since my night terrors could well be connected to this.

No reason to toss the bathwater and all that.

I complained about it at work, and my coworker Niomi was really nice about it. She said she has had issues with memory all her life, and suggested a few additional doctors I could talk to.

Some days, most days, I look for the sound of rain. The rain makes me think of the rainwater cocktails on the porch, of the nights at the museum, and the sound of my mother's voice.

Storms make me think of the dark things that lingered in my room.

Today I yearn for snow, for the shrieking of wind as it makes its way over blank, flat, empty ground.

I seek this out.

I have to.

Thank you for everything.

I'm going to try and figure out what to do next.