These are all written at my "Reid" MySpace page Here...I'll be adding more here if you like and there no matter what, lol.

Journal Entry #31:

These being sections of the private journal entries of Dr. Spencer Reid:

I can't sleep, I've been in this bed for hours with nothing to do but think - I'd never been less inclined to think, I just want to sleep. I am grateful, however, that Gideon brought me the journal, at least now I have something to keep me busy.

He always seems to be able to know what I need - it was he who suggested journal entries back when I first started to have the nightmares a year ago. He had suggested a number of ways to help me deal - "Focus on the good...Write it down...Talk to others..." and, I imagine, he uses them all himself.

I've heard the rest of the team enter and exit in shifts - watch shifts. I don't want to face them and so I pretend to sleep. They all speak aloud to me so I think they know I'm faking but haven't the strength to call me on it; it doesn't matter anyway because they all say same the same thing - "I'm so sorry Reid...I hope you know this wasn't your fault...I wish we could have gotten to you faster..." JJ said she should have fought with me harder to stay together and I almost opened my eyes to argue but when I heard sobs I knew I couldn't handle watching her cry.

It must be past visiting hours now because after Morgan left there was no replacement for him - he'd said goodnight, told me to take care, and given my shoulder a squeeze before he left. I didn't hear from any of them after that.

A nurse came in awhile back and I asked her why I was still here. She told me I was under observation for seizures - when you have one there's increased risk for others. I asked her what my IV drip was of, she gave me an odd look as she answered Saline - I wondered briefly if she knew about the Diluadid that was, no doubt, still in my system and so didn't ask anymore questions.

I don't want people to know about the drugs; it's why I'm now grateful Tobias's back always blocked the camera when he shot me up and why I took the vials in the end - it's bad enough they know about everything else. I'm already "the kid", "the nerd", "the clutz", "the kidnapped", "the beaten", "the murderer" (Gideon said that wasn't my fault, but I made the choice and it was my choice that got people killed) - I don't want "the drugged" added to the mix. No, this is something I'll keep to myself - it's not like I'm about to use again anyhow. I'll just wait until I get home to destroy them and then it'll be as if none of it ever happened.

Journal Entry #32

These being sections of the private journal entries of Dr. Spencer Reid:

I returned from my brief hospital stay this morning without a clue what to do next. I haven't the strength to go through the mail, though I saw at least one letter from Mom. I maintain even less interest in the messages that might be on the machine. The one and only thing I want to do is the one thing I can't - sleep.

I hadn't been able to sleep since Tobias last shot me up, three days ago. Everytime I begin to drift off the images begin to flash again and the anxiety grows. When I finally get the anxiety to subside the guilt comes and I'm up for the rest of the night going through all the things I could have done to prevent what happened.

Twice I have gone to my bag to examine the vials, wondering if they could give me the hours of sleep I've been deprived, but I've been able to resist. Another restless night and I might not be so strong; another 24 hours with these visions barraging my mind and I'll do just about anything to make it all stop.

...I'm so exhausted I can barely think...

Journal #38

These being sections of the private journal entries of Dr. Spencer Reid:

After about five days without sleep I finally succumbed to it - the liquid that filled those tiny vials in my bag. It was 3:30 in the morning and I simply couldn't take another night of lying in the dark. Of having the few precious times I nodded off be filled with images of Tobias holding my own gun to my head.

I scrambled out of my bed to the living room couch where my bag lay. I rifled through my files and books and pulled out one of the vials. I stared at it for a brief moment before taking a deep breath and bringing it to the bathroom with me. I used the injection kit I kept from the time my mother came to visit and required her injections of Haloperidol - I knew using the was safe because I was the only one that handled it, Mom couldn't be trusted with such a thing.

I moved with the kit and vial back to my room. I sat in the middle of my bed, opened the kit, and began to spread its contents out in preparation. With each new instrument I pulled out I repeated to myself -"Just this once, just to get some sleep...Tomorrow you'll throw it all out".

The needle was exactly the right size as I tipped the vial and needle first at an angle to push the needle in and then upside down to fill the syringe. I removed the needle, ensured there were no air bubbles, and then put it down to pick up the elastic tie. It was surprisingly easy to tie the band around my own arm...finding a vein was easier, it's something I'd done for my mother a number of times...ensuring the angle of the needle was somewhat of a problem, but not so much I couldn't do it.

I pushed down on the plunger and, for a moment, there was nothing. Then it hit me, a fog so heavy I could barely move. I focused enough to remove the needle and place everything in the kit so I could move it into the bedside table drawer. My body felt warm and the air developed a comforting thickness. Sleep was coming whether I was ready or not. My eyes grew heavy as I settled my head down on the pillow and thanked the powers that be that I'd found my escape.

...Sleep, the thing that I had craved so long, was finally here - it had come from a vial and I was ready for it.

Journal Entry #39

These being sections of the private journal entries of Dr. Spencer Reid:

The Houston case took an exceptionally large toll on me and the irony of dealing with an Unsub with PTSD was not lost on me. I can only hope that his fate is not mine - he had the support of his family and friends and still couldn't keep his sanity. I wonder what chance I have?

I sense that Emily suspects something. In talking to the head of a homeless shelter I may have been overthinking the potential danger she and those in the shelter were in and Emily began to question me on my behavior. I told her it was none of her business, though looking back I believe she was simply asking from concern. I don't know what worries me more, that she'll inform Gideon and Hotch or she'll begin to ask questions again in the future.

Although they could all already know. With the little sleep I get I allow myself to get as much as I can, no matter when it comes, and so have slept in on a number of occasions making me late for debriefings. Yet, no one (aside from Emily) has said anything so maybe not - or maybe the just don't know what to say.

Even when I get those few hours of sleep on my own they are filled with imagines from that night and I seem to seize awake. I could probably trust Gideon enough to tell him about some of my concerns (if anyone would understand he would) but I don't want to risk him asking for a psych evaluation on me or, worse yet, having him pull me from the team.

The team is all I really have, which is probably why I haven't used since that first time - but still, I always fear that I could again.

these are really good! i know they were posted a while ago, but you should keep going! :)

I agree with reidsgal, even though you haven't been on in ages, those are brilliantly written, and capture so many of the emotions we wondered about. Keep it up hun'!!!