Adara's PDA Entries These entries are accessible VIA Adara's personal PDA, often on her person or located within a locker in the Coldwell Outpost 2nd Floor Bunkhouse. First Entry 1/21/2417 Turns out my PDA has an application for creating journal entries. I'm still becoming re-acclimated to more...normal, everyday things since waking up (I've been in stasis for NINE YEARS). Its been about a week and a half since Jacob and I arrived on the Coldwell Outpost, on a planet whose name doesn't really seem to matter, since we're out in the Fringe now. Having read some...self-help advise on the star-net, I've come to the conclusion that a sort of. Personal Journal would help me...be less crazy? Maybe? I think I'll extend the same advise to Jacob--that is, if I find this to be useful at all. So far sitting here typing on this dinky little thing is just making me feel uncomfortable. I've chosen a place that's out of sight, out of mind of my peers: the roof of our bunkhouse. Its hard enough to get up here on my own, I doubt anyone would find me and wonder what I was up to. It feels. Weird, to think that someone might find me doing something like this. I was a Lance Corporal for the USCM before this, and I feel like I should be able to handle emotions, feelings...and these other things just fine. But I can't. Not lately. Everything's changed, and keeps on changing. I don't know how much longer I can put up with it without having a fucking mental breakdown. Long story short. I've lost my home world, my best friend-boyfriend, my family, my company, my job, my sanity...oh, and the escape shuttle we used to get that crashed into the planet we're currently staying on. That we'll have to recover soon, now that I think about it... I'm going to go work on that now I think. Till then...End of Entry.
Second Entry 1/22/2417 Jacob's hurt himself again. ...maybe I should start from the beginning? I've. Been starting to think if anybody ever finds this, if...I'm gone or something, or if I just decide. To give this journal to someone? Maybe they'd understand if they don't any other way. Or worse. If I somehow forget things...then I remember again. I don't know. I feel like writing it like the horror story it is. Spoiler: Story Time. 1. I'll start it from the first week, in general. Jacob and I woke up on our escape shuttle. Red, red light everywhere once I came to. Our stasis chambers had drained of fluid...but they wouldn't open. Turned out, they'd rusted shut over time. The tech that was available within wasn't all that great to begin with, so it kinda made mild sense in my head at the time. I saw Jacob in his tube, he looked fine. I was still trying to get my head out of the water, felt swimmy...and he fucking headbutted his way out of the damn tube. What a fucking dumbass, I thought. But it appeared to be effective. While his forehead was bloody, he made his way out of his tube to get to me, and proceeded to do it. Again. Only this time? There wasn't enough force--he'd fallen forward and passed out in front of my own tube, but left a crack in the glass. I was more or less awake by then. What remained of my breather, which kept me from drowning in stasis fluid, was still hanging. I wrapped my hands inside of it, and cupped my hands together. I put as much force into the glass with my fists as I could, and it broke too. Glass everywhere. My head was somewhere between high as a kite, and down in a fucking rut. It took time...I had to see what was wrong. The communications array still worked, and thank the Lord, we were floating above an inhabited planet, from what I could tell from the flashing red screens. I saw him though. I saw him lying on the floor: but not Jacob, he hadn't even passed my mind yet for concern. It was Liam. ...I don't think I can write more of that right now. I'll. Proceed to write more at another time. I'd better fully address my concerns for the day in this same entry still, anyway. I found Jacob on the roof of the bunkhouse today-I'd been hiding from that damn Glitch that showed up on the colony. At first I was downright pissed, since I thought I was the only one that came up there and was going to figure out why in the hell he'd gone up there, but...He had cut up his hands like he'd had them in a barrel of glass shards. They weren't deep, but there were so many. It was sick, because some part of me felt like he'd done it on purpose and I didn't really know what to do other than to bandage them. He's always been accident prone, even before, but things are different now. This wasn't the same. I think he's hurting himself. And I cannot stop him. He doesn't even have that same happy-go-lucky attitude that I used to give him shit about all the time back in the service. I wish I could even just see him smile that stupid, giddy grin of his. But I think its too much for him. What happened. Why am I still able to hang on, if even he can't? End of Second Entry.
