Nothing good of any of this.

We spoke to our sister. She is twenty-two years old, and yet has cancer of the reproductive organs (in remission), which is complicated by endometriosis that has attached to her liver, intestines and the muscles in her back. Her insurance will not pay for a hysterectomy, and the hospitals will not perform the surgery until a down payment has been made. (The reasoning for both is that people her age do not need hysterectomies). On top of this, she was refused any type of pain medication, even though one can see the spasms the wrack her body. Again, the excuse: she is too young. I despair for her. She cannot
function.

And then, Tuesday during our shift, the body experienced a miscarriage. The fact it was a miscarriage was bad enough, really. However, the effects were sudden, and several workers became aware of it. We were sent home early, and although I did try, the Host refused to see a doctor about it, reminding me that we never have seen a doctor for such things, anyway.

To complicate matters, this is the same time of year as our first miscarriage, and all that goes with it.

I daresay it is almost laughable. How can one not find twisted humor in this? What are the odds? Sometimes, one cannot help but to laugh in situations such as these. The alternative would be insanity. Please do not think me crude; it is simply that I can find no other way to accept all of this at once.

Addendum:

Nicholas is awake. As damaged as he is, I am wary of why he has come to us now, knowing full-well his singular reason to be. I will do as best as I am able in helping him in any way I can, however I cringe to think of what he has come to tell us.
I will post more on this once I am certain what it means for Nambiet.

More on the Shadows.

It has been a recurring vision for nearly three months. Shadows, riding wild horses. These horses have empty eye sockets, bleeding a black oily substance, their hooves are splintered and cracked. The riders--those we know as Shadows--writhe in their rage, they spit obscenities and mock both Pain and Despair as they clutch at the horses' knotted manes with bony fists. Their eyes glow a solemn blue, almost a warm neon blue. One cannot see their true forms; they are wrapped loosely in thin grey fabric, and are reminiscent of the stereotypical Druid. In these visions, I never see them charge. They hold their ground, with their horses pacing nervously and the Shadows staring mindlessly from afar.

Some background information is in order, I believe:
The Rahkas are the enemy, here and now. They are soldiers, some mercenaries, self-proclaimed Jescuans. Most of them are rather young, as the life-expectancy for a Rahkas is relatively short. Their weapons are as ours are: firearms, blades, uinen asi sartin. However, the Shadows...they are the Rahkas no longer alive and yet not quite dead. They cannot be killed in any manner I am aware. The Rahkas know of the rituals because the Shadows participated, and what the Shadows know, the Rahkas know. The Rahkas have withdrawn for now...and yet, the Shadows remain. Watching, waiting.

I wonder what this means. I wonder where Kassuil and Pavelin have gone. I wonder what Trinet told them. I wonder how Mirej knew to call me James. I wonder if I can maintain my sanity. I need a fucking cigarette.

Niven's epiphany.

The lily is my favorite flower. It exudes strength and majesty; the petals are soft, and yet not so fragile that one would shy away from touching them gently. Clean and fresh, like the dew that covers a meadow in the small hours of the morning.

I think of lilies because they remind me off-hand much of Niven. His spirit is "light and free", as someone told me, and yet in a very short time he lost most everything he cares for. Niven is one who
can take most anything in stride: he can ooze sarcasm one moment and engage in a heart-to-heart conversation the next. He is still rather young, considering, and his maturity can be lacking at times. However, in the gravest situations, he is a man, ready to tackle whatever may come his way. I worry for him. Aside from recent events, he has never known adversity. He confided in me once, perhaps a week ago:

"Ever since I got to know you my life has basicaly gone to shit. It's just one damn crisis after another with no let up. But before, when there was nothing...I never really lived, either. It's like you can't really understand life till you know how much it can hurt you."

I believe it was a compliment, of sorts. Perhaps a coming-of-age revelation. I can only do so much to help him, and I am doing as best as I am able. I suppose we shall see if it amounts to anything.

Knowing first, then understanding.

Quite a few things occuring as of late. Where to begin?

Things have been rather intense in therapy. Personally, I see no gain in seeing a therapist at all. The Host sits there for her hour session and
rambles on about nothing really, and completely avoids anything substantial. She is master at avoidance, and she wonders why nothing is ever resolved. I refuse to come forth and deal with her issues, I have done it for far too long, and if she insists that we spend an hour travel-time and an hour session time each week to speak of nonsense, then that is her choice. It does not mean, however, that I will give in and deal with these things for her.

Something else struck me a little deeper. During our lunch break, as I once mentioned, we often sit and tell
stories. It is rarely anything deep, as we try to keep one another laughing to stave off fatigue. One of our journeymen in particular delights in being comedic, and that suits him well. Without delving into politics, our crew began speaking of religion, in
general. Someone from one of the other trades walked past and said something flippant, to the effect of, "It's only a fool that believes in God." Knowing this man, I doubt he meant it, he was merely trying out his machismo (a long story). However, the comedian in our crew turned to him and told him quite seriously:

"You know, yeah, I guess you have to be a fool. But I know when you're crouched down in a damn foxhole surrounded by shrapnel and gunfire, you learn to pray. And when you're holding one of your buddies, hoping he don't die on you, you get a little better at that prayer thing. And when he does die, and you have no choice but to pray for the fucking courage to
pull yourself up and run down-range, you know, you realize it's not all that foolish, after all."

It was deeply moving to me, in more ways that one. I wanted to tell him I could relate; I wanted to tell him I know the jaded look in a soldier's eyes. I think in some ways I should elaborate, but I think it is best to leave this be for the moment.

Sunscreen and sweat.

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the smell of progress. Those scents pervaded the air today; something not entirely unpleasant. The weather is warm again, and we are trying to finish digging the underground trenches before the heat becomes unbearable. Therefore, most everyone involved with the underground aspect of this job is working at least fifty hours a week to compensate. It is hard labor, I shall not lie;
but after the pour-watch, and the concrete has set, it is good to know that yet another aspect of the job at hand has been completed.

I enjoy our work as a tradesman not only for the excitement, but for the feeling of accomplishment. Every time we finish a job, I can look back and see, for years to come, the quality of my work. It can be humbling at times, to know that so much rests on one's focus and attitude, but it is the same with any job, really.

I debated whether or not to plunge into a verbose description of what has been occuring as of late, but I am still weary, and much of it would be redundant.

Treading lightly.

No matter how hard I try, what research I conduct, or what I think I understand, I know nothing. There are too many things that cannot be explained. A friend of ours sent us a site on The Shire, and I read a good deal of it. I know why our friend did this; it is because of Piers, because of the Rahkas and Jescua. (Or Yesua, either are correct.) She asks questions and I do try, but sometimes there are no answers. For instance, how did I survive so long before having chosen the new identity of James? I have no idea. I scarcely recall those times. Why did Piirek claim Jescua? How did the Rahkas follow him? Who are the Cieltese? No one knows. Anyone who might have known is now dead, or unwilling to speak. There are too many theories as to how we came to be. Part of my yearns to understand and yet...

And yet, does it matter? We are here, nonetheless. I was once known as James, anyone who knew me by that name would likely have forgotten me, by now. And as for Jescua, I have never had a satisfactory answer in regards to where it is, or how any of Jescua's self-proclaimed inhabitants arrived here. Of course, they hint at the Neverwhere, and the storms, but that is no kind of answer.

I suppose what I mean to say, is this: We all come from incredible beginnings. I know how a child is conceived, and that in itself is remarkable. To me, that is almost unmistakable proof in the existance of God. I cannot see a child's conception, and subsequent birth, as anything save miraculous. Why is the basic fact of conception so easy to accept by millions, theists and non-theists alike, and my own manner of existance is questioned? Since I was not born, I cannot have a soul? I was present as the Host grew up, I remember her school days just as she does. Whether I was created by God, or "programmed" to exist, or made a journey through time and space to fulfill a duty...does it matter? Am I not here, nonetheless?

It is a trifle unsettling, honestly, to think of the circumstances that aided in my coming here. Perhaps I would like to forget. There is so much I would like to ignore or avoid.

My existance, as it is, is all I know. I have nothing to draw from other than that. It is perfectly natural to me--not to mention, preferable--to live as I do, Inside with the rest of the Collective. The thought of being One is terrifying. An enigma. It must be a very sad and desolate experience, indeed.

Lo çunisi.

Aside from the proximity to the obvious anniversary today (which I shall ignore, as I despise discussing politics if I can help it), quite a few things have occured as of late.

Niven has been hit with quite a dilemma: elders at the Pavillion have debated whether his small ones are safe in his keep. This is partially because of their pacifistic nature, and they oppose his helping me while I was away. This is also because they do not think that exposing his small ones to Outsiders is desirable. They have given him an ultimatum of sorts, and he has taken a leave of absence until it can be resolved. He is very shaken over the entire situation.

The sister, her boyfriend and her son came to visit today. It was very much a surprise, as our schedules often collide and therefore we have little time to see them, and vice-versa. For the most part, it was pleasurable. However, at the beginning, she was rather angry at us; with me, in particular. It was in regards to one of my previous journal entries, in which I wrote that the Host wanted to cut, and I basically stood by and allowed it. The sister believes that I would dare allow this to become dangerous, or even fatal. She mentioned that I am not living up to my duties if I continue to allow this type of behavior, and although I can most definately see why she might believe this, at the same time I wanted to impress upon her that this is not something that simply ends. We have come a long way from where we were in 2000 and 2001, cutting twenty or so times daily, suturing our wounds. It has been two months now since we self-harmed at all. Not our best record, by far...but damn it, it is a process. She also mentioned that if we cannot keep from harming ourself, then she will make it so we will lose our employment. I highly doubt that. To be honest, I can make a weapon from any one object. One does not need a specific tool to harm oneself, and her claims that she could find us employment somewhere without any dangerous items is impossible. No, this is not a challenge; I am merely stating the truth.

Aerith suggested I begin censoring what I write, as it is known that the sister reads the site often now. She told me that, as a female, she understands how the sister feels. (As if I am not capable of understanding, but I let the comment pass.) I must say I considered it, as it would be fairly simple to take graphic or sensitive entries to a page with a passcode. However, I never censored my free-thoughts prior, and I will not start now. She has read far worse.

Again, however, I must reiterate that her wrath only lasted a few minutes, then she apologized and said she told us those things only because she cares for us. I believe her. We allowed her (nearly) three-year-old son to play with some of Molly's and Jude's toys, and he seemed to enjoy that immensely. He especially liked the toy cars and miniature ink-stamps; when he left, he had practically covered his arms in them.

It is rather late, and the body needs rest. I shall write more later, as I have the time. It is so good to be back.

Forced treatment.

As for myself, we have been rather busy, of late. Le Rêve--now called the Wynn--is slated to open on 28 April. It is most extravegant and I admit to being proud in my part in its construction. Already it is so in demand that they are well under way in planning the second tower. It will provide thousands of jobs and offer quite alot to the tourism niche, so in that I am pleased, as well. Another side-job we were working is the Strike Zone, Nevada's largest bowling alley at Sunset Station. I thought it rather small at seventy-two lanes, but the electronics impressed me; the cosmic lighting is a nice touch. That is opening this week, and so now I am between jobsites, on the service truck, but no matter, time is a gift and I am happy to accept it.

All this follows a very low time. To be honest, I must say that these low moments are still very frequent, but they do not elicit quite the same sense of desperation as they did months prior. Due to hasty acts not thought through, it is now required that we meet with a therapist, a psychologist that doubles as a narcotic and alcohol counsellor, a psychiatrist, a social worker and a behavioral health care representative in order to maintain employment and to avoid being held on another Legal 2000. Personally, I think it is rather close to overkill, as it were, and the majority of it seems asinine. There is nothing I have to say of any importance that needs to be repeated to so many. I wonder, also, if this has a negative effect on the investigation being conducted as we speak.

This brings to mind a question: While inpatient, prescribed were many medications I saw as unnecessary. Among these were Desyrel, Geodon, Risperdal, Zoloft, Trileptal and Ambien. Now, the presrciptions have changed to include Lamictal and Abilify, but have ceased with Geodon and Trileptal. This, since December, and for the past two weeks none have been ingested. This is due to a feeling of being overmedicated and several unwanted and disturbing side effects. In these past two weeks, however, since I have stopped taking any of them, we have experienced intense dizziness, loss of focus, syncope, numbness, and tremors. Of course, several in our treatment team have suggested that this is due to withdrawal, but emotionally all is as well as can be expected and psychologically the mind is clear. I cannot refuse to see this treatment team any more, but I would like these medications stopped. I cannot see a best course of action for this situation, and "giving in" is not an option to me.

Well over a week ago something happened in the realm of self-harm that is rather drastic in nature and I feel deserves no description. It did cause tissue and nerve damage, and I am doing as well as I am able in
caring for that. What I am taking issue with is infection. The tools used were the very opposite of sterile, and in fact were sullied with carbon dust, attic insulation and hydraulic oil. The infection has caused odd coloring in the recesses of the wound itself as well as the surrounding flesh. I cannot describe further without discussing the nature of the wound, and so I say only that I have exhausted every idea I know in regards to combatting infection to no avail. We may just have to see a health care professional, though I dislike that idea.

After a hiatus.

Yes, I hereby apologize for the gap in between my entries. I was so very involved in the offensive strike. It went well, I must admit, with minimal casualties, considering the brutality. I daresay the Rahkas were surprised, to say the least. There is so much to tell, and I do not have the time. I am absolutely exhausted, and I feel I will be useless if I do not take advantage of this temporary calm.

In further news, the sister found our site. From what I hear, she was "thoroughly freaked out", and I must say I understand, as she read the site in its entirety, having known nothing about us beforehand. If you are reading, sister, allow me to say this:

As the sister, I know it must be incredibly disconcerting to know such things about us, especially since you had only an inkling of our existance prior. I hold no ill-will toward you, or toward the family, in any manner whatsoever. I do not intend to permenantly make it so your sister is unavailable to you. That would be unethical. Furthermore, your willingness to accept us is both comforting and commendable. Thank you.