I Am Curious (Thirty)

April 12

I’ve been calling David and Arnold more or less constantly. No answer. I’m a little worried, which I suppose is not rational, but what is rational and what isn’t and how does anybody tell the difference? I had to take an antidepressant yesterday. I had been promising myself not to take them, not to need them, and for a while this was an easy promise to keep. No one feels compelled to take antidepressants when she’s walking on air. I wasn’t depressed and I didn’t need them, but yesterday I had to take one, and it didn’t do all that I hoped it would, I was still down.

Rational. Is it rational that he should know everything I do? Does he have spies? Detectives? Or is he some comic-book hero who can see through walls?

I hope they’re all right. I don’t know how I know this, but I’m positive he has killed people. And that he’s capable of anything.

He owns me.

Lock, stock and barrel. He really does.

Oh, crap. The hell he does. If he owned me this book would not exist. I wouldn’t be writing these entries. They preserve my independence. You could even say that they constitute my independence. What independence I’ve got.

The thing this diary does besides is to keep me together. Not keep me sane, although maybe it helps do that, or helps toward that end, I don’t know. But I keep being different people and my life keeps finding new forms and this book, “Dear Diary,” is the only constant.