Finally able to reach you, dear journal, after being in the hospital all this time. It didn’t take long for the withdrawals to hit me with full force. I was quite paralyzed. My landlord inquired about missing rent and called for medical attention when he found me. He tells me I was writhing on the floor in a puddle of my own vomit and piss. I don’t know how this happened. I am more accustomed to the nervous sweats and lack of eating and expulsions of fluids by other means. I also remember little of my time away.

There was a veil over my mind until a week ago. Part of that was the fog of medicines they had me set on. I am quite better now. The sounds that plagued me at night are gone. I haven’t seen Her in days. A reprieve after so many months of dreaming.

I am now homeless. My landlord helped me pack my things, and I am now taking quarter in my office until I can afford another place to live. William & Mary’s has offered me a dormitory to live in until I can get my feet under me, but only if I pay them monthly. I have no money. I will not be paid again for a bit, and have already borrowed against the money I have. I will be hard-pressed to figure this situation out, but I know I will not have long before I am relieved of my position here. There is a way about Dean Duncan, the rotted soul. He would have me gone. He would have be removed from my post with no chance at redemption.

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