No new tortures to report, but I write today with the greatest, deepest, most unimaginable sense of betrayal.

Since my last report, I have made inroads on undermining the sanity of my captors, primarily through sleep deprivation; at the same time, I freely confess a growing affection for them. I cannot prevent this natural reaction towards those who, for the last four months, have diligently looked after my every need.  However, rest assured: That doesn’t mean I will hesitate when given the opportunity to escape, nor does it mean I shirk my duty of making their lives as difficult as possible. I simply must acknowledge that I receive moderately decent care in this detention center.

To the point, however: The last couple of weeks, I have successfully launched a campaign to stymie my captors’ attempts at establishing a routine by waking up at ungodly hours of the night, loudly and insistently demanding food; waking in the middle of naps with lots of loud screaming; screaming while they try to put me down at night; rejecting the bottle (more on that momentarily); and generally being impossible to predict. Further, I befuddle them by acting perfectly cheerful, happy, and compliant during the time I spend awake. I think I have them perfectly confused, which is, of course, to my advantage.

They have won this round, however, because today – just as I had begun to hope for some thawing in the tensions between me and my captors – they took me to the bright, hard place full of strangers and, after some senseless manipulation of my limbs, stabbed twice in each thigh with incredibly long and, needless to say, painful needles. Why they do this just as I’m beginning to trust them, I cannot imagine. It makes me even more distrustful, hardens my resolve to never succumb to their insidious, lying charms. I got back at them, though. I peed on Mommy’s pants while she held me for the procedure.

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