When I come home. (If I come home.)

I think I've become fractured.

There was more static pouring out of the radio today, and it left me cold and hollow inside.

Things have escalated, and I worry I might actually be going blind at some point (I still haven't been able to get a hold of a doctor, something that I'm beginning to suspect is His fault, because I've never had this kind of quiet torture and incredible bad luck when it comes to unpleasant medical procedures), though... I could just be reading too much into this again.

I went to the city yesterday with my mother (who knows nothing of what's happening, and I plan to keep it that way. No need to involve the Unbelieving), and we were forced to park the car in the lower annexes of the building I was currently residing in, because the city is a crazy, crowded place. It was pleasant enough, in the beggining, if not troublesome - that was, until the lights went bitterly dark, so much so that I couldn't even see the hand I held up in front of my face; my first natural reaction to look over my shoulder in hopes (dread) of seeing a tall shadow with slender limbs and a narrow waist - I didn't, of course, but that's what made it worse, because I know and you know He's laughing at my crippling paranoia, and the fact I was clutching onto my mother like a small child was probably the single most amusing thing He'd witnessed all day.

But moving on to less dramatically inclined things, glimpses of a suited figure outside the window several times that day notwithstanding - There have been... Dreams.

Lucid dreams, but not, because I never taught myself how to do that, and I doubt I just randomly woke up one day with the ability to do so. He was in my dreams again, but it was different - He was different. He touched me in a way that left electricity on my skin, my nerves on fire and every part of me keenly aware at the perversion that was taking place. I think... Some people call it Stockholm Syndrome. I'm fairly certain no one ever intended for it to be applied to a non-human entity I'm not even sure is capable of doing those things, but it doesn't change the fact that I feel filthy.

Depraved.

I woke with a start, and everything ached beautifully inside of me. I couldn't resist - I'd read about it before, in a Stephen King book (I believe it was called "The Regulators", lest my memory fails me); where the female protagonist was being harassed and tormented by an evil entity quite taken with her to some extent, and she had fallen to the point where touching herself was the only way she could release the pressure threatening to drive her insane on the inside.

Key difference though, I doubt the heroine was having vivid, fevered dreams about her oppressor, nor did she (to her horror and shame and utter morbid fascination) find herself whispering out His name against gritted teeth when she finished.

He's tainted me, in the worst possible way, and I just let Him.

I can't do this anymore - I'm dirty, unforgivable.
I'm sorry.