Unknown Location “The Show”

“The sick feeling has come back. It happens every time I watch the show. By the time it is finished my stomach feels like it is trying to eat itself. I hate that feeling, but week after week I watch the show anyway. I delete recordings, but by the time the urge comes back the recordings have returned too. I have tried breaking my television. I am on my third one. I just can't seem to stop myself.

I have to know what happens to me.

The opening causes me to scream every time. It is those eyes in the wood. They seem to appear at random. Sometimes they appear at the start. Sometimes it isn't till the end. But somehow it always is when I least expect them.

The title card starts, along with the episode number and name. Sometimes it relates to the episode. Sometimes it doesn't. They aren't in order so it is hard for me to tell. The plots only seem to come together when I sleep.

I have to pretend like everything is alright. I talked about it to my therapist and they put me in a hospital. I don't want to go back there. They make me take things that make me drowsy. That only makes the dreams worse. By my final day there I was vomiting in my sleep. They never figured out why. But eventually my insurance stopped paying and I had to leave.

I feel like crying. I know what I am doing is madness, that I must be sick. There is nothing about the show that has a hold over me. I am just losing my mind.

Writing about it seems to help out. I don't know why. Maybe it just helps me process things. It is so very hard to understand what is happening. By now I can't seem to remember ever not watching the show. Even as a child I can remember it being my favorite. I think my memories are wrong. There is no way they are right.

I just want my stomach to stop hurting.

It doesn't know my name. At least I don't think it does. It has gotten to the point where I can't remember my name either. Sometimes I check my credit card or driver's license, but it seems to change. Today my name is Emily. Yesterday it was Amber. Things seem to get confused easily. I am worried that there is something really wrong, that this is just part of something bigger. Or maybe this is just how my madness is.

I leave my house after watching the show. Go for a walk. My stomach feels like it is rotting inside me. I walk until I am exhausted then head home. That seems to help too. If I am too tired I don't dream as much. The people at work are worried, but I convinced them a while ago I was better. I can't let them know that was a lie, at how much I've hidden.

If I do, they won't believe me when I tell them it has come back. In episode 393 I tell them all about it. The show and the sick feel coming back. I tell them, and the yellow eyes come. They kills them one by one. It piles them in a room and forces me to sleep there. It wants me to know there is a cost. That is why I can't tell them. I don't want them to die.

Maybe if I tell them, they won't die. Maybe the show is lying to me. But I don't know. Today I am Emily and that is all I know. Sometimes my parents are dead and sometimes they are divorced. Sometimes I am orphan and sometimes I am the youngest child.

The show always comes back into my life. The longest I went without it was three months. I remember what it felt like when I was watching TV with my 22nd sister. I cried harder than I ever have before. I had forgotten it, but it didn't want to be forgotten.

I don't want to be forgotten.

By the gods...I think this must sound insane. But I need to write about it. I just want the pain to stop even for a little bit. I have tried dying, but it never works. I know when I die. The show showed me. Episode 1,745. I think it is that day that I die because it is the largest number. But maybe I come back. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe that is all I am. Am I just dreaming? I wish I was just dreaming.

I want to wake up. I hope I am not dreaming.

Time is slower in dreams then in real life. All of this...could be one long nightmare.

I miss my eighth mom. She was really nice to me.

I wonder if she misses me too.

Maybe she is a dream. Or I am the dream. I feel sick. So sick. Writing normally works but it is getting worse. Gods why won't I just die? I am so tired of being ill. Just please let it stop. Just let tomorrow be the day I die. Please. Or wake up. Please. Something. I am so sick. I want my mom.

The show is on now.

I have to stop typing.

Need to watch the show.”

People have started sending me letters to my house. My house isn't part of public record, and my dad and I use a P.O. Box for all important mail.