I'm Not Crazy

It is the 20^th day of the month of January of the year 2017. It’s my birthday, but I treated today like any other. Turning 21 is supposed to be a big event. For me, it is just a milestone of survival. Nothing more.

 I was chuckling to myself earlier. Chuckling is not one of my main pastimes. I remembered how I started this diary to document my growth as a human being before life was a bleak scrap for survival. It is no longer about grown. Stagnation is now a perfectly acceptable outcome. My chuckles were about how things change, even though drastic changes are now at the centre of my fears. 

Just like yesterday, I would like to say that writing this diary is important. Tonight might be the night when it finally happens. If I do not record my final thoughts, then perhaps no one will know that I was right all along. Yes, I do accept that my diary entry yesterday contained some inaccurate predictions as to what would happen last night. I also accept that two nights ago, my forecasts didn’t cement themselves into reality. My hundreds of diary entries that read just like this one are a trail of imprecise but are not wrong. One day, one night, I will be right. It will likely be tonight. Forget what I said yesterday; today is the day. The story of today is similar to the story of yesterday, but tonight it ends with the ultimate ending. 

For someone who does not know the situation as I know it, my thoughts might seem incoherent. I must assure everyone that the evidence of my eyes and ears is totally plain and consistent. My knowledge of my circumstances is undeniably true and not a result of any misinterpretation on my part. 

I know that they’re outside. They’re watching me. I can feel their eyes radiating my skin like the sun. They’re burning it with the rays from their eyes. I’ve gone through my customary procedure and blocked out the windows, put barricades against the doors. There’s no way they can get in. But then, who knows what they are capable of? 

Still, I’ve been unable to determine who they are. Further investigations today in the vicinity of my property have failed to locate them. This makes my task of defending myself even harder. How can I guarantee my safety against an unidentified assailant? 

The question of how I know they are there, even if I can’t see them and don’t know who they are, is nagging at me again. I just know. Human beings, particularly special ones like me, have an extra sense. Intuition tells me they are there. Has my intuition ever been wrong? Yes, plenty. Is it wrong tonight? Surely not! I can’t be wrong. If I’m wrong, then I’ve devoted months of my life to a non-existent threat. That is simply not possible.

No, they are there. They are waiting for their moment. As soon as my vigilance slips, they will kill me. Perhaps that is why they have waited so long. Maybe they will let me humiliate myself in this diary every day until the attritional fatigue of repeating myself each day wears me down into complacency. They are preparing themselves for the day that I do not write in this diary. Patiently, they bide their time until I look like a crazy old fool whose madness got to them. 

If I do not write in this diary every day, my death will surely be considered a suicide. That will never happen! I want to live. Each morning, when I see the sun, I am delighted to do so. My life being torturous and under constant threat makes it unenjoyable. I can tell you, though, that I consider death at the hands of those monsters to be an inferior alternative. 

I don’t want to die. I am like an antelope surrounded by lions. I can see the inevitability of my own demise, but I want to prevent it at all costs. Well, I mean to delay it. In one way or another, I cannot prevent it, whether they kill me or not.

Tonight, I am faced with a problem. The problem that I face was caused by my extreme caution from last night. Last night, after I wrote my entry into this diary, I was paralysed with fear of the impending attack, which never came. Because of that debilitating anxiety, I stayed up all night, ready to protect myself. If you, the person who finds this diary after my death, reads back a few pages, you will see that I have not slept in a few nights. My vigilance and self-preservation require consciousness.

Now, you see my problem. There is only so long one can remain awake. Eventually, the fatigue will kill me. If it does, they win without laying a finger on me. Last night, I managed to stay awake until sunrise. During the day, I spent a brutal few hours ensuring my fortifications were still secure. I had to dismantle part of them to receive a food delivery, which meant the arduous process of reconstruction.

I did not even have the chance to sleep off my work during the day. The food delivery meant yet another session of poison tests. The testing kits did their job, as did the testing rats, so at least I had a decent meal tonight. Potatoes are a wonderful thing. Unpoisoned potatoes, along with my keen eye for danger, are the only thing standing between me and eternal non-existence.

Given that I normally sit and do nothing during the daylight hours, today was quite eventful and taxing. I am grateful that one of the events within the eventfulness was not an assault on my property. Nevertheless, I am left physically and mentally drained of energy. Even as I write this, I can feel my body entering some sort of automatic slumber.

Whenever anyone sleeps, they risk dying before they wake up. For most people, that risk is minuscule. For me, it is significant. It does not matter how much I don’t want it; I will fall asleep once this diary entry is complete. 

If this is the last entry in this series of daily accounts, please know that I did all I could to resist my death. It was not a suicide. If anything, it was a result of my body letting me down. If I had an indefatigable physical build, I might have been able to save myself. 

In the extremely unlikely event that I am wrong about my impending demise during my upcoming doze, then I will return tomorrow for the next entry. It will contain almost exactly the same thoughts as today. Such is the nature of the existence I am imprisoned in. I cannot escape this repetitious cycle unless I give into them in some way or another, which I refuse to do. The 21^st day of January will be the same as the 22^nd, and the 23^rd, and the 24^th. I have to live like this until they deem that I cannot live anymore. Rest assured, they will decide to kill me. It will probably be tonight. If it isn’t, I know that it will be tomorrow or perhaps tomorrow’s tomorrow. I cannot grow from here, but I will gladly accept remaining exactly the same. If I see 20^th of January in 2018, my 22^nd birthday, I will be delighted, but that day will be just the same as my 21^st. 

I am going to sleep now. I hope to see the sun again. If you are reading these, the last words of my life, please know that I am not crazy. I did everything I could.