- 57 ACH: Kalypso's Sketchbook-Journal I
- 58 ACH: Kalypso's Sketchbook-Journal - II
- 66 ACH: Kalypso's Sketchbook-Journal - III
- 81 ACH: Kalypso's Sketchbook-Journal - IV
Kalypso Leto, 81 ACH
I'm drinking again. Not just a little bit, here and there, to be social. I'm drinking to the point that things are numbed out and I can forget for a while. At first, it was just a little. Just enough to take the edge off and get through the off-duty hours with some of the others. I guess that's how it started. Harmless enough. A coping mechanism that a lot of us pilots use. I don't know. Somehow, though, the last two nights I let the control of it go. I don't even remember parts of the last two nights. A part of me is glad of that. It did numb it. It did make me forget.
Somehow, when you think wars can't get worse, they do.
I know you probably wouldn't remember him, Dion, but Tychon was killed the other night. Another tie back to home turned to space dust. I know he was dead before the explosion. I hope he was dead before the explosion. Still, my mind keeps going back there, seeing his Viper floating… back to seeing Scala drifting through the black too… and the guilt is eating at me. I went back to the Genesis. I left them. I didn't try to do anything. I was scared. I know I usually don't admit that, but I was scared. I don't know how I made it back to the barn. I just know I did and that I left them to die.
Orion made it back. One of the other Raptors did the SAR. I haven't seen him yet. Things with us are… weird. In some strange backwards way, he kind of reminds me of you. He's certainly got your same flair for getting under my skin and calling me out on my bullshit. Maybe I'll go see him later. I should've gone to see him in the infirmary when he was taken there after the mission, but that was the first night I hit the bottle. I hit it pretty hard. I think Chione took me back to my bunk, but I can't remember. I'm fairly sure it was Bayless and Sloane last night.
It's another of those double edged swords. I don't like not being able to recall parts of my life, knowing that I lost the control, and yet I don't want to remember. I don't want to think about it too much. About all the lives lost. I'm tired of being sad. I don't know which is worse, though. Being sad, or being hungover. The Gods aren't helping.