Log #1438

Six sixteen.

Kelvin and I finished our shift on watch at three. Usually when I’ve just finished a late shift I’d hunker down and try to get a couple of hours of sleep straight away, because I always like to be up by eight. This morning’s been different, though.

Kelvin asked me what I was writing about earlier and I told him some of what I’d said. I told him about my job being my life now. He seemed to be saddened. I didn’t really understand at the time, because I’ve been blinkered for months. I gave it some thought though, while we were sat there. I’ve come to conclude that I’ve become a cold person, being in here. I’ve blocked out things that I would usually think about every day.

When we’d been relieved I came back here lay down for a while. The clatter of me opening and closing the gate always wakes Fran up and she always asks me if I’m okay. Usually I’ll tell her I’m fine and just lie down, but this morning I asked her if I’d become heartless.

She didn’t answer. At first I thought she was simply asleep but after a couple of minutes she asked me if I thought it was contained. I asked what she meant.

For me, it’s comforting to think of the rest of the world going on as normal out there. It’s comforting for me to think of my wife and son being safe. But for Fran – maybe for everyone else – it’s a soul destroying thought. The idea that they are stuck in here and the rest of the world is just carrying on regardless is horrifying.

I can sympathise with that point of view. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for hours. I think Fran fell asleep again, because she hasn’t said anything. A part of me thinks that she can’t have fallen asleep though. Not with something like that on her mind.

I don’t want to sound desperate. If you’re reading this then either I’m dead or you got me out. If I rant on about how we’re all feeling forgotten and deserted then either you’re going to feel guilty that you didn’t get me out in time after I recorded all this information for you, or I’m going to feel like a fool for losing hope when you haven’t forgotten about us at all.

I keep psychoanalysing myself. It’s not even my field of speciality.

Sat here trying not to laugh. Just imagining being in one of the gateway facilities. Probably in the Faroes but ideally in one of the Canary Islands. Going through decon with everyone. Sitting in a bland waiting room in dressing gowns, going in one by one to speak to the shrinks.

We would need to see shrinks. We’d need to spend weeks in a facility. Not for your safety, but… Gosh. I feel like a criminal, needing to be corrected before being allowed to reenter society.

There’d probably be inoculations too. Who knows what you’ve come up with while we’ve been running around in here fighting for our lives every fucking day.

Want to delete that but I can’t. Want to stand up for myself. Feel like if I don’t start now I’m ready to buckle and then we’ll all end up being run around by Joel.

Spring’s finally rolling in. Sun’s probably up by now. I might join Bridget on her morning walk. Might help me clear my head.

Seven forty-two. Next log shortly, I suppose.

– Titouan Denaux