Still Waiting...

There was hope today. I thought today would be the day we would finally bring you home. I felt a sense of completion. I felt as though my efforts had worked. I started this blog to reach out to you. I started this blog to find you and bring you home. Every time I've posted an entry, I've known one day you would read it. I thought today would be the day that we brought you home. I was wrong.

When I read the diary for the first time, I was shocked. So many things you wrote didn't make sense to me. I was reading something that didn't happen. To me, it's a horror story. It didn't even sound like you Cuddlebug. If I had not seen it in your handwriting, I wouldn't have believed it was you. I've always had some serious questions about this since the police contacted me. I was a complete mess. I thought the cops were coming to arrest me for some other things I'd done while using drugs. I wasn't really hiding from the law. I only had a few petty shoplifting cases and disturbing the peace. I wasn't a serious criminal. I admit I had done some things I hadn't gotten in trouble for and that's why I thought they were coming to get me.
I had a post office box in my name. My general assistance check would come there once a month. The only time I'd ever go to that box was around the time that check would be there. That check . . . my junkie addiction pulling me toward that check. The full circle. They told me to hold on while they went to grab my mail. I waited. Two men walked up to me, held up some police identification and said my name. I started to turn and run. The addict in me. All I had on me was a few grams of hash, but I just know they were there to bust me for it. The funny thing about my desire to run was that I wasn't afraid to go to jail (I've been locked up for a few days before.) I was afraid I wasn't going to get my check and that meant no more drugs. I remember wishing I had my check in my hand so at least when I got out I could go use again. Then one of the detectives said, "We are here to talk to you about Sarah Brown." My mind went blank for a minute and all of my addict tendencies went out the window.

That's how I found out. That's how I learned what happened to you. I didn't see it on the news. I didn’t get a call from a relative or friend. The police took me downtown, asked me some questions and showed me a copy from the pages of your diary. I thought you were dead. I told the cops something must have happened to you and that they needed to find you. The cops weren't as positive as I was. They pulled out a few sections of the diary and asked me to verify if your accounts matched my recollections. I read each page with horror. It was this twisted mix of truth and fiction. I couldn't understand what it all meant. I pushed the pages away from me. The cops asked me again if I recalled any of it. I began to cry. In that moment, I knew you were not dead and that you hadn't been kidnapped. I told the police the truth. I told them I did not recall the events in your diary. Then I went and got my check.

From that day when I wandered the streets, I always had this hope that I would run into you or that you would find me or I would find you. Yesterday I thought I received a message from you. I really thought it was you. Maybe it was. There were things said that I still feel only you would know. We were supposed to meet at the coffee shop today. I waited . . . I waited . . . I waited . . . and I waited. I waited there until the shop closed. I waited three hours after the shop closed. I showed people the picture I have of you from when we were kids and asked them had they seen you. With no luck I ran home thinking maybe you left a message on the blog. You didn’t.

Sarah, if that was truly you, please contact me again. I won't tell anyone about it. I just want to see you again and know you're okay. I love you Sarah and I miss you so much. Please. Please. Contact me again. We miss you Sarah. You know how to reach me.