Still alive, with even more blood on my hands. Survival instinct isn't a choice. I keep thinking I'm too tired to fight, but I fight every single time. And somehow I win even when I don't want to.

I don't want to be a killer, I just don't know any easier ways to stop a killer.

I miss this guy!

I need a job. I've tried office work, but there's always at least sociopath and it usually ends in murder. Can I please find a job where I don't have to kill anybody in self-defence?

Been lying low. Latest stab wound will not stop bleeding though.

Ditched the profiler. Didn't want him getting hurt. Anybody who gets close to me gets hurt. Good, bad. Doesn't matter. I'm cursed.

*drinks to forget Joe Carroll*

Pretty sure this is one of the few days I celebrate, although I'm not sure why.

All the cops showing back up. Brings something out in me. Memory, almost. But I can't let myself get arrested again.

Still alive, with no clue how or who I am.

Still trying to figure out who the hell I am, and why so many people want me dead.

I'm heading back to New York, where there's plenty of murder and gun crime, but unlike L.A, there's no karate war.

Killing a serial killer does not make someone a murderer, especially not when it's self defense. Or so I keep telling myself. #SaveProdigalSon

I remember The Woodsman case. I just can't remember of I was trying to stop him, or if I was helping him. It wouldn't be the latter. But why do I know so much?

I have a partially working heart. Doesn't seem fair that you're hoarding them.

Why do I only remember the colleagues who were brutally murdered? I need to find someone who will tell me I'm alive, and then not try to kill me.

Coffee is a privilege for those who haven't killed anybody in the last month. Guess I'm stuck with vodka. #ImNotAKiller #ImASurvivor

The brief flashes I get of my old life, they're not pretty. Maybe it's time to start a new one. Without death. But there's death all around us.

I know I'm forgetting a lot. Still not sure who I am and why people want me dead. But it's there, just under the surface. And I can't die, because it's not over yet.

It's not all fake blood. Hate this time of year.