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I don't want to have to talk about everything on here. I'm already feeling as if this venture will be pointless. I can only hope that the more and more I write, the more I will understand what it is that I'm going through -- that's what Hannibal claims, anyway.

Sometimes, I'm not that confident within his methods of psychiatry.

Once, he even dared to ask me directly about my parents, bringing up the question within the casual conversation. It was hardly professional.

He hasn't helped me much with anything. I'm still having sleepless nights, while hallucinations haunt my day. And I'm not a bit closer at figuring out why my brain seems so scattered. Sometimes, it's like I've been hijacked. My thoughts don't even seem like my own anymore.

Today has been especially bad. After the lecture I gave concerning the killer I spoke of a few days ago -- the media is calling him the Jack of Hearts, an even more sensational name than I had predicted -- I began to dissociate. It started off simple, my body feeling foreign and faraway. But the feeling quickly grew and developed into something consuming, a complete disconnect from reality. It was as if I was floating far behind myself and hanging, like a kite, by a thin string that tied me to this world. 
It was uncomfortable and the thought still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I don't exactly know what to expect out of my reality anymore.

August 2013

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