Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange stretch of road.

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Building 18 "The Doctor's Visit"

I went to the doctor earlier in the day for a normal checkup. After a few minutes it was clear by the look on the doctors face that something was wrong. I asked him what it was, and he admitted to me that upon looking at my numbers he realized I had lost a good deal of weight. He brought up my family history...and pointed out that my parents had died of cancer. Then he began to ask me a series of questions, and suggested that just to be safe it may be a good idea to run some tests...I had only started seeing the doctor recently, since he is one of the few that live in the area.

It would...make sense. Many of my symptoms suggest the possibility. The loss of weight, the inability to sleep and achenes. Even the migraines are all indicators...

I left the place feeling awful, knowing that the doctor wanted to see me again before the week was out to get some x-rays done and some blood work. I can already smell the room, the scent of antiseptic and plastic. On my way home I vomited. I didn't even realize I had eaten breakfast this morning.

Could this...could all of this be a symptom. My collapse at the train station, seeing strange things out of the corner of my eyes; could it all be sourced to something deeper? If I had to choose between having cancer and having something supernatural happening to me, I would choose the latter to be true. Certainly I sound mad to believe that there is something terribly wrong with the place I live, that something may be stalking me, or that this place is affecting me, but it is better than to know that the illness that took my parents from me may...

I know all of this is all premature. I really am trying to see this all objectively but it is hard. Ever since my parents were brought up in my therapy I have been unable to sleep without thinking about them. Many of the memories are nice, and I could likely include them among the only happy dreams I have had within the last year. But the image of them that I see when I think about them, when I am awake, is of them in separate beds with tubes running into them.

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