When you finally give into the Light, it hurts more than any wound you have ever received.
You cannot put your pain into words.
Try. Please...just try.
You feel like you have been hollowed out-all of your energy, passion, fury have been scooped out of your legs, stomach, arms. You feel like you are collapsing in on yourself, like you cannot breath, like you are in a constant state dying.
And then there is the wanting. The Dark Side is breathing down your neck, just waiting for you to admit that you cannot live on Light alone. Power, pulsing delicious power is right there, and it would be so easy-
Everybody expects you too. Poe, Finn, Chewie ( he used to carry you on his shoulders) all want to kill you. The rebels stop talking when you walk by- not out of respect or fear, the way you became accustomed to- they are too angry to think, much less speak when they see you, the murderer, alive. They think you are lying, that you were a ship-jumping rat. They would have respected you more if you had died Kyllo Ren instead of trying to become Ben again. Finn argues with Rey- he's not safe, how can you forget, he's going to hurt you, kill us all, please leave. He thinks you will fall again. Everyone does.
Not your mother. Not Luke. Not me.
There is the guilt as well.
You do not even know how many people you killed. Over eleven million if you include the deaths you ordered.
The Dark Side shielded you from their deaths.
The Light Side forces them down your throat.
The padawans, who thought they could persuade you to stop.
The villagers who tried to run away.
That young pilot who had spoken out of turn.
The captured rebel girl who worked up the courage to spit on him.
Han So-father.
There is no rest from the guilt. Even in sleep, your father touches your face and you hear your mother scream through the Force. Rey sobbing. Chewbacca wailing.
They would stop screaming if you went back to the Dark Side.
We would still scream, you just would not hear it.
Still. You could sleep.
