I’m… I’m sorry. I know why you kept that tape from me, and we’re not going to get anywhere like this, working solo. So, I’m going to come over at some point tomorrow and we’ll figure out what to do next. I gotta get out of here. I’m starting to see things I know aren’t there and it’s starting to make me feel really sick.
so much of the last few years make sense now–I was doing fine, I was getting better, and then imagine waking up one morning in the backseat of your car miles from home with blood in your hair and you have no idea how that happened