April 25th 1976
I'm scared.
It's becoming harder for me to look others in the eye, terrified that they might be affiliated with Kaufman, Dahlia or any of those other cult zealots.
Do they even exist? The library books indicate that they do, but I can't tell if its fact or merely fiction. How do I know who to trust? Even the police make me nervous, fearful that I might say the wrong thing to the wrong person.
I don't want to die.
Am I going insane?. Maybe that's it? Maybe I'm just as loopy as that Grady woman? Yes, I've lost it. I've completely lost it. Nobody else seems capable of hearing and seeing the strange and horrific things I have been forced to witness. How could I possibly explain them?
It's the drug, it's a mental breakdown, it's everything and anything that makes logical sense, because I can't bear to admit that a six year old girl is causing all of this.
Just how long is that child going to cling to her miserable existence? I almost wish she would fade away and free me from my duty. Its a horrible thing to hope for, but I actually want her to die. I just want to forget about all of this.
I put the plastic bag inside my toilet tank. Nobody will find it there! Its waterproof, so the PTV won't get wet. My special place. I think I'll need another dose soon.
My hand is shaking.