White Lies

I still feel like I’m being followed everywhere, always catching someone out of the corner of my eye, not being able to see them. Or not wanting to.

I took tomorrow off from work to relax before the stay. Pankov made a vague attempt at wishing me luck but he’s not very good at pretending to care, though I suppose it’s nice that he at least makes some sort of an effort. Luckily, the stay itself is being covered by medical leave, so I don’t lose any of my holiday time. But I’m losing time anyway.

I’m feeling pretty tired, so I’m going to go to bed. Don’t worry, the nightmares will keep me company.

Two Weeks, or Swelling

I just got back from my appointment. The psychologist doesn’t think I’m developing LOPS but…

…I blacked out during the session and attacked him. He didn’t press charges, he didn’t even call the police, as a matter of fact, but he suggested I submit to a voluntary two-week stay in one of the city’s psychiatric hospitals for examination and observation. I decided to take up the offer. I’m going in on Friday and coming out two Fridays after that.

I’m hoping this will also serve as a nice bit of rest and relaxation after all the stress of the Nikitin case. The stress that doesn’t seem to end. I keep seeing that thing in every third dark room I pass. I would understand if it seemed like it was actually doing something but always just seems to be swelling. Why is it swelling?

The House of Leaves

I hate being paranoid. I really, really do.

I thought I was doing okay today until I went out to the bookshop near my apartment. The whole time, I felt like I was being followed again. Then, when I finally did get to the bookshop, they told me they’d mixed up my order and got me a copy of The House of Sand and Fog instead of the copy of The House of Leaves I’d ordered, but, of course, I was too sheepish to complain. They were at least nice enough to offer me a free pick from the Russian classics section, so I decided to take Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment. It’s odd to think that it will likely be the first Russian classic I will read in full.

My appointment is tomorrow at half past three and I’m very nervous about it. I’ve heard the psychologist I’m seeing is very progressive but progressive doesn’t necessarily mean adequate in Russia, though I hope it does in this case. Even if I’m not developing my father’s illness, I need help. I’ve been keeping things bottled away inside for too long.

The Social Ocean, or Doubt

It’s a dull, overcast day. Neither too warm nor too cold, just mild. This kind of weather is uninteresting, uncompelling and lends itself to idle thought.

Sometimes I stand on the balcony of my apartment and look out at the city. The city has no skyscrapers, so it’s like looking out on a multi-coloured sea, and just like looking out on the sea, you have to look really close to see the life underneath the waves. I see all the productive little fish, scurrying here and there, the roaming predators waiting to destroy them and feast on their entrails and, at the bottom, the scum.

The most powerful force of change in the world is consensus. If we all agreed to stop polluting the ocean, the ocean wouldn’t be polluted. And if we all agreed to stop trying to destroy each other, we could fix every problem imaginable.

Instead, it’s left to people like me to destroy the destroyers. But we just become destroyers ourselves. What if I can’t stop destroying? What if, when I cut away the cancer afflicting this city, I can’t stop cutting? What if? What if? What if?

It’s not enough that I can’t stop doubting the integrity of my own mind but neither can I stop doubting my own integrity in general. It’s like a weight dragging my down all the time and I can’t make it go away. Why can’t I be sure of anything? Why?

Crash

I’ve made an appointment with a psychologist for next Monday and now I’m certain I need to see one.

Today, I spent more time catching up on paperwork. Actually, no, I finished catching up on paperwork and was able to relax for a while. I was in the middle of reading about that horrible plane crash that happened in the Republic of Karelia when almost all of my paperwork from the past few days was handed back to me. Why?

Because I had signed them wrong. Because I’d signed them “Stepan Nikitin”.

Late-Onset Paranoid Schizophrenia (LOPS)

I caught up on my paperwork today. I was slightly behind.

There’s a lot of time to think when you’re writing. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the first thing I thought about was writing. Sometimes I like to fantasise about leaving the force and trying again as a writer but it wouldn’t be fantasising if I actually thought about it seriously. I’ve accepted that I’m just not good enough to be a published writer. Perhaps I was foolish to invest myself so much in English literature. If I’d read more Russian literature, maybe I wouldn’t be stuck with an inability to write adequately in either of the two languages I speak.

From there, my mind wandered to journalism and from there to Vasily’s impressive suppression of the Nikitin case and from there to Nikitin. Nikitin, thin, wirey and animalistic, sitting in the darkness of the interrogation room, grinning like a jackal and laughing like a hyena. Saying those words.

I’ve tried not to think about it, the shadow and how it swelled behind him, brimming with anger as it filled the room. The blank, white face illuminated by the light from my phone.

It can’t have been real. It was just my paranoia slipping further. Nikitin must have been able to tell I was seeing things. He was just taunting me. I think I need to go see a psychologist.

I think I’m developing my father’s illness.

On the Endless Struggle of the Paranoid Man & Other Matters of Relevance

Pankov tried to bring me over to the dark side again yesterday. He does it now and then. Apparently my straight-edgedness (is that a word?) worries the others at the station, even though I’ve never even hinted at exposing anyone. So they try to get me to succumb to the temptation to take bribes and beat the crap out of people. I told him to fuck off.

However, I’m worried that that may not have been a very good move. All day today, I’ve felt like I’m being followed. I keep seeing someone out of the corner of my eyes but nothing substantial. Maybe I’m just being paranoid but maybe I’m always being paranoid. I can’t discount every feeling I have as potentially paranoid. That’s not going to get my anywhere.

Sometimes

Pankov and I had to break up a domestic dispute today. The wife had nearly killed the husband by the time we got there.

Sometimes, I feel like the world is trying to break me. So many people give me so little reason to have faith in humanity. I try to do my best, I try to protect people’s rights, but half the time it feels like I’m the only one. Sometimes, I wonder why I bother.

Pirozkhi

I’ve been settling back into my routine. There was no celebration on my return, not that I was expecting one. Pankov got me some nice pirozhki for lunch but otherwise there was no great disturbance in the force.

I have nothing to report as regards my investigation at the moment. I just thought I should update to let you all know I hadn’t been killed or anything.

Nostos II

I’m back home and return to my normal work tomorrow, as I wanted. We regained power early this morning and I was let out and taken to Vasily’s office. He spent a good five minutes glaring at me before telling me that I was no longer deemed capable of aiding the procuracy in prosecuting Stepan Nikitin and, as such, I was to be removed from the assignment immediately. He gave me money for a train back to the city and sent me on my way.

I should be happy about this. This is what I wanted.

But I didn’t want it like this. There are too many questions about Nikitin to which I have yet to recieve any satisfactory answer. Unfortunately, there is little I can do about it, so I’ll just have to try and get back to my relatively normal life. This will always trouble me though. I’ll always want to know the truth.