Notes in a Little Red Book. A Story of Being Crazy and Dead

We have just moved yesterday. It seems like a lot of relatives have come to stay at our next-door neighbor's; there’s laughing and merrymaking but no cars in the garage. Strange. I just hope they won’t play any loud music. A good night’s sleep is all I need to get over this.

Picture found in the Little Red Book - Personal Archive

I’m doing fine without the pills. However, everybody has decided to leave me alone anyway. They were driving me crazy for real, both of them, the people and the treatment, so__.

I'm better off without them. I don’t feel like sharing with anybody yet. And I hope my neighbors stay away for a long while until I feel like socializing ever again.

God, I felt great indeed when I got up. I spent the day sleeping yesterday. For the first time I was hungry and in the mood of watching a movie or, perhaps, calling somebody for a cup of coffee. But I am not good now; something happened, something about the house. For the first time, also, I’m starting to regret having left the city. What if something happens to me here; I don’t even have a cellphone. Peter was right; I never listen. But, hey, I was right, too; those pills made me woozy. How could he expect I thought things through? It was like he spoke in languages. That is why we took my car and left.

A family came with a man in a cheap suit, a middle-aged couple with a little girl. They had been watching the gardens; I don’t think they went inside in any moment. The child said she had seen a ghost standing by the window on the second floor, staring at her. Nobody seemed to believe her, but she was so upset that they decided to stay outside in spite of the many attempts of the man in the suit. Nobody lives here, he said.

I’ve finally become a trespasser. I don’t have a camera, so I’m taking my notes as I always do. The house is clean, and there is cooking in the kitchen and other things going on. “Nobody lives here”?

The family is back today for another visit; they are determined to buy, apparently. This time the girl stays in the car with some lady. She looks at me and waves. The lady does not seem to see me. She gets out of the car with the girl by the hand; she looks mad. Her lips move: Where’s the woman? I think she asks. There; the girl points at me. There’s nobody there. Stop! Stop doing that, Alice.

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