Entry 1 – Issues

Apparently, I have issues.

Doctor Frasier thinks I’m suffering separation anxiety, a guilt complex and that I’m an obesity case waiting to happen.

Firstly, I don’t miss my world. Thinking about murder propaganda and how much you hated people exactly like you – breaking free of that was the best thing I ever did.

Secondly…ok, there’s a certain amount of guilt there. It should’ve been me. Except Doctor Jackson had the guts to do it, saving my planet and leaving me to deal with his death and the looks from his friends.

I can’t stand around doing nothing – I owe so much to his memory, to him and this world. I don’t want to stay in an office and read book after book until my eyes fall out, trying to fill a gap I don’t deserve to try for.

Moving on…

So I eat. A lot. There are so many new tastes here, things I’ve never experienced, things I so desperately want to eat…

And I guess I’m not talking food anymore.

Here’s the real issue, the one that no one knows, the one I’m forced to hide. On my world, it isn’t a problem – just another way to avoid overpopulation, a free choice, following your heart…

When I first heard the phrase ‘free country’, I wondered if they truly knew what they were talking about.

I switched on the TV. It was a news program, I think, covering a protest. I watched in fixated horror – this free country, this idea of freedom, they couldn’t think like that…could they?

Hate crimes, ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’, homophobia…some freedom.

So, what am I to do? I can’t walk up to…him, and say ‘Should we go for a drink sometime?’ He’d be disgusted, horrified – throw me off the base, and possibly off the planet.

There could be a chance – after all, he’s not from round here. He could…

What am I thinking? When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When in America, do as the Americans do. When on Earth…

It would’ve been so simple on my world. It was simple. I smiled at him, genuinely intrigued, pointing to the tattoo that should’ve meant ‘I’m available’, an invitation to touch the mark and claim the bearer.

This world is so alien. *I* am so alien. And if I can’t know this world, and this world can’t know me…what am I doing here?

Just paying a debt, looking for absolution…and trying not to fall for the Jaffa.

Easier said than done.