A/N: This is written for The Room's Winter 2017 Memoir Madness Event.

If interested, an accompanying fanvid can be found here (please be sure to eliminate spaces and add the proper punctuation where applicable): www. youtube .c o m (forward slash) watch?v=hhothLavfhk. Thank you for looking.

For fandom blind readers, at the end of this story, there will be an A/N with YouTube links where you can see canon scenes referenced.

Disclaimer: American Horror Story and its characters are not my creation. They are the creation of Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk as a 2010's television series. This work of fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only and is not for financial gain. I am just borrowing the characters for a bit and promise to return them unharmed and in their original condition, maybe just a bit happier.

Recovering

For Kit, who encouraged me to fly, for Julia and Thomas, my little darlings, and for all those who've cared.

I've lived most of my life in the dark. When I was young, I fumbled for that light switch many times, but I could never find it. It got to the point where I'd grown so accustomed to the darkness that I stopped trying to find the light. I'd assumed there was no light, not for me anyway.

I...I've done a lot of terrible things in my life. I used to believe some people were born good while others were born evil, and there was no changing that. I realized how wrong I was while in Briarcliff, but more on that later... As for where I fit into the good versus evil spectrum, well, I lost my halo a long time ago. Mind you, I don't quite think I was born evil. I never felt evil. I tried to be a good little girl, but I fell short of that so many times.

My father... Well, he'd left my mother and me; I never really knew why exactly, but I think he was searching for the light, too. He was never going to find it if he stayed with us. I don't really remember much about him, except that he always smelled like a mix of Aqua Velva, pipe tobacco, and whiskey. Then again, the Martins always smelled like whiskey...

My mother was a strong, hard-working woman. After my father had left us, she worked as a maid in a hotel, and I was expected to work, too. My job was to go to school, then come straight home to an empty house for chores. I got good marks in school, and I did my chores, but I was lonely. I didn't really have any friends. The other children teased me because we didn't have much money, and I had no father. I didn't really mind it much, though. I had God; He was always there.

But it was difficult to play dolls and tea party with God, so I prayed for a friend. "Please, God," I said. "Please, just give me one friend. I promise I'll be good if you just give me a friend." A week or two passed, and then one day, while walking home from school, I found a baby squirrel. He had a broken leg, so I assumed he'd fallen out of his tree. I looked around for his mother, but I couldn't find her, so I decided to take him home. I kept him in a shoe box, and I was happy. God had answered my prayers; he gave me a friend. I named him Gabriel, like the archangel, for I felt he was Heaven-sent...a messenger of the Lord sent just for me.

For a solid week, Gabriel was my world. I went to school, did my chores. Then I'd feed Gabriel sunflower seeds, give him water with an eyedropper, and play with him. By the end of that week, he was even able to put pressure on his bad leg. I was a good little nurse for God's messenger...or so I thought.

The following week, however, was a particularly busy one. My mother picked up extra shifts at work because we'd needed the money. That meant I had to pick up the slack at home; making dinner was added to my list of chores. That was a lot for a ten-year-old to take on, and I was so tired, I'd forgotten to look in on Gabriel for a few days.

By the time I did remember, it was too late, only I didn't know that. I just thought he was sick. I laid the poor thing out on the kitchen table and prayed. I prayed my little heart out for hours. "I'm sorry, God. I'm sorry I forgot about my friend, but if you give me another chance, I promise I'll be better. Please, God, make Gabriel well again."

When my mother came home, she screamed at me. "What the hell were you thinking, Judy? We have to eat at that table, for Christ's sake!" She then threw Gabriel's tiny body in the trash. She was tired from working all day, and she couldn't possibly know how that had made me feel.

I just shook my head and cried. "God didn't answer my prayers!"

My mother poured herself a whiskey and laughed. "God always answers our prayers, Judy. It's just rarely the answer we're looking for."

After that, I was angry at God. He'd neglected to remind me you need to feed friends like that. He'd given me a friend and He'd taken him away in the blink of an eye. How in the hell could I remember to feed that squirrel when I could barely keep my eyelids open? I felt God was underhanded and sneaky; there were loopholes everywhere, and I wasn't keen on having the wool pulled over my eyes again. I resigned myself to living in the dark. I didn't need the light, not as long as that meant I wouldn't be tricked again.

God didn't seem to mind it, though. I still went to Church; I even continued to pray. I was just careful enough to never pray for myself, however. God may have had his loopholes, but I had mine, too. I'd pray for others, but I didn't put a lot of stock into those being answered. If they weren't, it was no skin off my nose. I risked nothing, and that's the way I liked it. I was protecting myself from false hope and unwanted hurt.

I continued this strange relationship with God into my adolescence. I always felt if I were doing it wrong, I'd be sent a sign...perhaps another messenger like Gabriel. Nothing ever came, though. I'd decided God didn't want me anymore. Maybe He never wanted me in the first place, just like my father. Oh, but I didn't blame Him exactly. He'd given me one chance with Gabriel, and I'd blown it all in an instant. I was prideful, full of sin. No wonder He'd turned His back on me. I'd decided He didn't give a damn whether I lived or died, and truth told, neither did I.

I was reckless in my late teens. In true Martin fashion, I was a girl who could hold my drink and then some. The boys were very impressed; they expressed their appreciation, and I responded in the only way I knew how. In case that's too subtle a hint for you, I was a bit of a whore. When I met Casey, I became a one-man woman, though. I told myself I was done whoring it up, promised him I'd never even look at another man. Not long after, we'd decided to get married, and I was happy. I was a young girl in love, filled with hope and promise for the future. I couldn't wait to have a family.

Unfortunately, Casey wasn't as faithful as I, and he ended up giving me syphilis. By the time I'd found out, the damage had already been done. The doctor told me I'd never be able to conceive.

Of course, I was devastated and angry. I'd gone home, prepared to tell him how angry I was. But when I saw him, I just couldn't do that. Instead...

"So what did the doctor say?" he asked when I walked through the door. "Did he explain why I haven't knocked you up yet?"

I walked over to the table in the corner where we kept a decanter of whiskey and prepared a drink for each of us. I handed one to him and took a generous gulp of mine. "He did," I replied quietly, "only the news isn't very promising."

Casey's eyes widened. "What does that mean? You...you're not sick, are you?"

I sat down next to him and took his hand in mine. "Actually, I am, but there's no need to worry. The doctor says I'll be just fine...only I'm not going to be able to have children...ever." I dropped his hand and went for my drink again, swallowed the rest. "When were you going to tell me, Casey?"

"Tell you what? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You gave me syphilis, goddamn it! The doctor...he said it's something that happened recently. We've been together for over a year, and I...I haven't been with anyone else. So that means the culprit must be you." I stood, blinking back tears. I hadn't meant to yell, but I wanted him to tell me the truth. I waited for what seemed like hours for him to say something, anything, but he wouldn't. When I finally turned to look at him, he was still sitting there, staring at the floor.

I sighed. "Look, Casey, I...I love you, will always love you no matter what. I want you to know I forgive you, and we'll work through this, but I need to know. When, why, how, who?" I waited a few moments and then reached for his hand. "I just need a little closure, and then-"

He pulled away, however. He met my gaze, his eyes flashing with anger. "I can't believe you."

I didn't quite understand. I reached for him again, but he gave me a shove so hard, I fell to the floor. "You're nothing but a liar and a whore! I never so much as looked at another woman, and you come in here, accusing me of giving you that...that awful disease? I got news for you, babe, it wasn't me. So why don't you go and take a good look in the mirror because the only one you can pin this on is yourself?"

He moved to grab his jacket, but I didn't want him to go, so I scrambled to my feet, spoke through tears, "I...I'm sorry, don't go. We...we can work this out. I-"

"Once a whore, always a whore, Judy. Everyone warned me about you, but I wouldn't listen. I told them you were different. Now, I gotta tell them they were right, look like a goddamned fool in front of everyone."

"Casey, please, don't...don't do this. I'm sorry."

He just spat in my face. "I hope you rot in hell." Then he walked out the door and out of my life forever.

As for me, I went back to that whiskey decanter. After it was empty, I moved onto the liquor cabinet. I just wanted to die, but I was too chicken to do it the old-fashioned way. I drank until I passed out, but I didn't die that night. Next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital. Casey had apparently felt a little guilty over what happened, so he'd sent his friend, Terry, to check up on me. He even brought me flowers...

"Glad to see you're awake," he said as he set the bouquet of daisies on the bedside table.

"At least someone is," I muttered as I pushed myself up. "I'm sorry if I sound less than grateful for what you did. It's just... Without Casey, I've got no money, no job. I don't know what I'm gonna do now."

Terry pulled up a chair next to my bed. "Yeah, Casey mentioned all that. That's why he sent me in the first place. You know, he feels real bad about everything."

I laughed. "Yeah, I can see that." I shook my head. "Jesus Christ, why are you here, Terry? You already did what Casey asked. You've got no obligation to... We've only met once before at a party. Casey said all his friends thought I was nothing but trash."

Terry smiled. "I guess you didn't know Casey and I really aren't very good friends." He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. "And maybe it's because I know you need somebody right now. I...I want to help you, Judy. Casey had said you can carry a tune. Well, you see, I've got a band, but we don't have a lead singer. What do you say? Can you help us out?"

Of course, I said yes. I didn't have much of a choice, and I felt it was the least I could do for Terry; he did save my life, after all. And we had a pretty good setup for several years. I was just what his band was looking for, and we played gigs at all the local bars. I also had a different man warming my bed every night; what more could a girl have wanted?

Okay, so it wasn't exactly an ideal life. I knew that, but I didn't think I deserved any better. I was a whore and I felt God had abandoned me, remember? Once a whore, always a whore, as Casey had said. Well, I had to make sure I lived up to my reputation. But even I knew it was wrong. I wanted more, but I didn't know how else to get it. Instead of trying to find the light, I took the easy way out with the whiskey bottle, drank myself into a stupor every night. Then I'd wake up and do it all over again the next day. Of course, it wasn't long before it all caught up with me...

I started getting older and the men were getting younger. They didn't want to sleep with an old whore; they wanted to go home to their young wives. After a particularly hurtful rejection, I got into my car to drive home, but I was already three sheets to the wind by then. And I took a little courage for the road as well.

I looked down for a second to flick the ashes from my cigarette, and by the time I'd looked up... I didn't see the little girl until it was too late...little Missy Stone. And when she was lying there in the middle of the road, I just... My head was screaming, "Judy, you have to go to her, see if she's all right! You have to help her!"

But the next thing I knew, I was stepping on the gas and driving away...far away. It was like a dream, a horrible dream. I drove until I ran out of gas, and then I drank. I drank and I prayed for myself for the first time in ages. I begged for mercy. I'd told God how sorry I was, how I'd clean up my life if He just showed me the light. And then I passed out.

When I awoke, I thought I was still dreaming...or perhaps that I'd finally died, because I saw an angel (but it was just a statue) and then a kindly nun knocking on my window, asking if I was all right. I'd assured her I was, and as she walked away, I got a good look at my surroundings: The Holy Cross Church and Convent. That's when I learned then and there my mother had been right all along. God always answers our prayers, and no, it might not be the answer we're looking for exactly, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing either. I finally felt I was home, and it was time to hold up my end of the bargain with God.

I turned my life over to Him then and there, leaving Judy Martin behind and becoming Sister Jude. I had nothing to lose, after all, and I had a lot of repenting to do. Mother Claudia became my friend and my mentor. She helped me through the struggle of swearing off the booze forever and getting back on the path of being a good Christian. My hard work didn't go unnoticed, and a few years later, Monsignor Timothy Howard recommended my name to the diocese as the perfect candidate to become the administrator for Briarcliff. Of course, I'd been elated, especially when I gladly accepted my new orders.

I'd felt it the perfect opportunity to share what I'd learned with so many lost and unfortunate souls. It wasn't long, however, that I learned I needed a firm hand, prompted by the monsignor himself. Timothy... He was a paradox. In the beginning, he was kind, the perfect picture of holiness. At least that's how I remember him, but I can't be sure if that was true or if I was simply blinded. And I was a nun filled with impure thoughts. I...I'd have given my life for that man if he ever asked. He filled my head with his fantasies of one day going to Rome, becoming Pope. And I was going to follow him every step of the way. I was terribly stupid, but I did whatever he asked and then some.

Even when he'd hired Dr. Arden, in the back of my mind, I knew something was off about the man.

But Timothy had chastised me. "Don't you trust my judgment, Sister? Dr. Arthur Arden's credentials are impeccable, and I think he's exactly what Briarcliff Manor needs. I ask that you give him a chance."

"Of course, Monsignor. It's just that..." But I couldn't put it into words how just one look from him sent chills down my spine, and I couldn't possibly suggest he turn him away based on a feeling and nothing more. "I'm sorry, you're right. I do trust you, Timothy. I'll always trust you."

I spent so much time kowtowing to both those men that I let whatever power and prestige I was able to hold onto go to my head. Indeed, some of the patients at Briarcliff needed that firmness, like Leigh Emerson for example, but as the years went on, I'd forgotten my vows. I'd forgotten to treat people as the Lord would have liked, to give them kindness, understanding, and compassion.

But all that power and prestige didn't mean a damn thing. I was a horrid person. I did despicable and underhanded things. In short, I was a monster. So how ironic it was when I came face to face with the Devil himself. It wasn't until I stared into the face of evil that I began to see everything clearly. I began to see Arden for his true evil, began to see Timothy only cared about himself and no one else. I'd asked God to help me again, asked him to help me ensure evil didn't prevail. Only nothing came.

Feeling defeated, I decided it was time to end it all. I'd tried to repent for everything I'd done, but it was too late for me. I felt it best to give my soul back to my Maker...only I couldn't do it. Once again, I'd chickened out, so instead I prayed. "Please, just take me, Lord. Kill me, do what you must. I've made such a mess of things here. Please? I can't do what you expect of me; I'm too weak to fight."

Yet again, my prayers were answered, but not in the way I expected at all. I was sent an angel; it's funny, because the moment I saw her, I knew exactly who she was: The Angel of Death, Shachath. I'd asked her why, why God kept me alive, why I didn't die the night Casey left me.

She just gave me a gentle smile and said that it was a part of God's plan for me and that I deserved peace. And of course, she'd give it to me if I just said the word. I was more than ready and should have jumped at the chance, but I... I needed to see the Stones first. I needed to apologize and give them some closure before I left the cruel world behind for good.

Imagine my surprise when I saw Missy was alive and well. I spent all these years blaming myself for a murder that never happened. Oh, I'm not denying that driving away and leaving that poor child alone on the street wasn't without punishment, but I decided I wasn't quite ready to die after all. Besides, had I left then, evil would have won. Over my dead body.

I went back to Briarcliff, prepared to fight. Little did I know it was all a setup, a conspiracy against me orchestrated by the Devil. And like little lapdogs, Arthur and Timothy bowed to his every whim. The Devil, Timothy, and Arden framed me for murder. Oh, I'm not sure the good Lord necessarily wanted that. He'd never go into cohorts with the Devil himself, but it was a blessing in disguise. I was defrocked, stripped of my duties and status, and was branded a madwoman. No longer was I Sister Jude; I was simply Judy Martin again, and I went back to a pitiful existence, back to nothing, but I was grateful. Ironically, the Lord blessed me. I had more clarity as a madwoman than I ever had as the head of Briarcliff. I became stronger, and so did my faith. I trusted the Lord, even through the shock treatments and the solitary confinement. There were days all I had was prayer.

Yet I wasn't powerless. I could still right some wrongs from my position. I implored Mother Claudia to at least help Lana. She never belonged in Briarcliff, and the least I could do was help her to get out and it worked. At least there was that. I wasn't quite so lucky, though, for Timothy realized that even locked up, I was a threat to him. He'd stripped me of everything, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to make sure I'd never see the light of day again, so he killed me. Oh, not in the traditional sense, mind you, but he took my name away. Judy Martin ceased to exist and Betty Drake came to be.

I've been playing the name game my whole life, you see, but it wasn't until my true identity was taken away did I realize that. But for as dark as those times were, I never asked the Lord to put me out of my misery again. I took everything that was handed to me like a champ. We all have our crosses to bear, and I'd finally accepted that was mine. I'd lost my religion, but I'd found renewed faith in God. Unfortunately, they kept me so hopped up on pills, I'd lost all track of time, all sense of direction. Before I knew it, years had passed.

Yet a part of me still hoped, still vowed that I was going to fly out of that place one day. Once again, the Lord sent me a messenger in the form of Kit. I'd never expected... I was sure I was going to die in Briarcliff for real one day, but God came through again...and I don't even remember asking. Finally, after a lifetime of hell, I found some peace. And I finally had the family I'd always wanted.

Kit, I give you a lot of credit. I know I put you through hell for a while. I never thought I'd get used to life outside of Briarcliff. For six months, you made me the happiest woman alive. I don't know how to thank you. But all good things must come to an end.

When I got sick, Kit insisted I go to a doctor, but I refused. I've lived a long life, and I...I'm just about ready to finally go. Shachath has started visiting again. She knows I've been calling to her, but I've asked her to hold on a little longer. There are a few more things I have to say.

In the end, your name doesn't really matter. Whether I'm called Judy, Sister Jude, Betty Drake, or Miss Nobody, it doesn't matter at all. What's important is what you do with the life you were given, the lives that you touch, and what you take away in the end. God always has a plan for you, even if it's something you cannot see right away, and God will always take care of His children. Even if you don't think you deserve it, He will always disagree. The light is always there.

A/N: Scenes listed in order of canon appearance. Please omit spaces and add the proper punctuation where applicable. All scenes should be safe for all viewers unless specified in parentheses.

The Squirrel/God always answers prayers: www .youtube .com (forward slash) watch?v=QFicVH-VHOY

You deserve some peace/Jude and Shachath: (viewer discretion advised for images of suicide): www .youtube .com (forward slash) watch?v=WiKVoiUcNfU

Shock treatment (language warning): www .youtube .com (forward slash) watch?v=1y5Fdz26tuM

The Name Game: www .youtube .com (forward slash) watch?v=zcyAYEyOyXs

More sane as a madwoman/Jude and Monsignor Howard: www .youtube .com (forward slash) watch?v=RK7k5NrMqnU

Fly right out of here/Jude and Kit (language warning): www .youtube .com (forward slash) watch?v=HjY3IJ7ihKk

Death/Jude, Kit, Julia and Thomas; Jude and Shachath: www .youtube .com (forward slash) watch?v=OPLsOzhf10Q&t=2s