Peeta
Every day I wake up with the feeling that I am trapped as a stranger in my own mind. Although sometimes I feel lovely things—even hopeful things—mostly my thoughts are consumed with darkness and confusion. Whether they are nightmares or memories I cannot always tell, but one thing that never changes is that she is always there. She is both my best friend and my worst enemy; my dream come true and the monster that haunts my tortured imagination.
Dr. Aurelius occasionally has to remind me that her name is Katniss and that she is more than a figment of my imagination. Without his presence I fear that my hallucinations would conquer me and I would be lost in limbo forever. He tells me that I am getting better, and I suppose that the delirium that has been my companion for so long has diminished ever so slightly.
Some days are better than others. My worst days are when I am unsure of whether the place and people that I am waking up to are actually reality. I have lots of recollections, but trying to take them apart and put the pieces in their proper places bewilders me. I have retained enough to understand that all of my memories have at least an ounce of truth to them. However, many of them are twisted by the poison that the tracker jackers injected into my system when I was held captive by the Capitol.
On a particularly bad day the one thing that almost always calms me is my journal. In it I keep a record of everything that I know is real and everything that I know is not real. In a sense, it started when I was helping Katniss and the others storm the Capitol and we played our "real or not real" game. Somehow Dr. Aurelius found out about it after I lost my mind for the second time when Katniss shot Coin instead of Snow. Most of what I write is what he has told me—I do of course have memories from this time but often they are not as clear as his version. I wrote down everything he said and when I am so lost that I fear I am on the brink of lunacy, I read what I wrote. Somehow my own thoughts written down reassure me and bring me back to what the place that I hope is real.
Although my thoughts of Katniss are distorted and just the thought of her can incite panic, her memories are also what keep the thread between my sanity and madness in one piece. Sometimes I think I must love her and other times I loathe her very being. I cannot help but wonder when this turmoil will come to an end—or if it ever well. I have considered ending this miserable existence more than once but something holds me back. The few good memories that include love for Katniss somehow seem to outweigh the relentless confusion and fear that plague my waking hours. Ironically, my worst fear seems to be the very reason for my stubborn hold on life. She may be mystifying, but she is mine. My very own lovely and horrendous paradox.