|07:30 am - Dr Seward's Diary|
June 21, 1897
My dreams betray increasing levels of anxiety that root in nothing. My waking mind carries only the unease of the dreams, no other lingering feelings of alarm. From the frustration of last week, they have migrated seemlessly into the fear that still lingers in my mind. Feelings of being lost, alone, and in trouble persist, and this time there is no rescue. The father figure, so unlike my own, for even in dreams I cannot ascribe harshness to mine, is no help, no succor. He to contributes to the abandonment. And In my dreams, I have led my friends into this pass. That too is troublesome.
The disquiet in my mind will not be quenched. I have tried to discuss my dreams with my associates, but I find the words pale, and as the incidents themselves are relatively untroubling, I am unable to communicate my distraction. I have even refrained from including them, beyond the merest details in my journal, for I find I cannot bear to relive them in the writing. Whence comes this trouble?
My meeting with my old friends has done nothing to put my mind at rest*, and there is still my patient who lingers at the mouth of hell wanting only the smallest nudge to send him careening into the abyss of madness. He may yet have company.
[*See letter dated May 25.]
Current Mood: nervous