Irish Angel,
I would like to take this time to be thankful for all the different ways we can have potatoes. Fried potatoes, mashed potatoes, baked potatoes, hash browns, french fries...the list goes on and on. And they're so delicious. I don't know what I did to deserve such greatness, I really don't, but I'm not going to complain.
I thought I saw him again today, but I know that's impossible, right? He's away...somewhere. He's never going to be able to find me again. I'm just being paranoid. He can't get to me even if he tried...I hope. The flashbacks are getting worse, and I admit I do get a little anxious just thinking about them, because I know there's only one way to find my way back to reality.
Last night was the worst it's probably ever been. It seemed so real, I almost believed...I think it was a dream at first. And then somewhere throughout it, I become aware that it was a dream while I was still asleep. And he could sense that somehow...and I tried to wake up, I tried so hard, but I just couldn't. That's what made it seem like it was actually happening. I couldn't escape him.
The next thing I'm aware of is the cold tile of the bathroom floor. A range of emotions filter through me. Relief, because it was only a dream, and anger, because he still has an affect on me this way. It's almost been a year, I shouldn't still be having problems with this by now.
Dia
"It's getting worse," I say aloud, my hands wrapped around both sides of the notebook. I look up, feeling tears well up in my eyes. I feel a comforting hand placed on my shoulder. "It's getting worse, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it."
"You're right, there is nothing you can do about it. But do you think she would want you to sit here, feeling like this is your fault?" The hand squeezes my shoulder before falling away from me.
"I guess we'll never know, will we?"
