Sticks and Stones may break my bones
but over time they heal
Words, looks and tones
Forever leave scars that I can feel
It's late. I need to get up in five hours and I have yet to fall asleep. Our current case is brutal and neither the luxurious hotel mattress nor the constant hum of the ac unit are able to coax me into drifting off to sleep tonight.
Is it like this for Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi when a case hits them to close to home? Of course, I have had cases in the past that have evoked strong emotions before and I know that this is to be expected. Heck, even the wall's protecting Hotch's feelings had been breeched once or twice, but this, this is different. They can forget, they can move on. For them, all the mild and moderate wounds disappear over time. Even the severe ones dull and the intensity of the physical and emotional pain fades and blurs until all they can remember is "That case was brutal". No clear recollection of the true intensity of the moment.
I envy them.
What do you do when you can't forget? When every moment and word comes back with such clarity that it is hard to differentiate between it and the original incident? All three victims were young boys not unlike myself. They had all graduated early and were looking for a friendly face and acceptance now that they had started university.
They had been lied to. They…. they had been used. They had… I can't let myself go there again.
The photos from the scenes burned every hurt and ounce of fear these boys had felt into my memory and not only that but they also drug forth every time I had a harrowing encounter with an unsub. The rush of adrenaline and sheer terror of a rapidly devolving serial killer holding me at knife point, the feel of the cool blade burning me as it is slowly drawn across my skin, the despair that wells up inside me as I feel the first hesitant, shallow cut across my skin. I remember Every. Single. Moment. I remember it as if it just happened even though it was weeks, months, and in some cases even years ago. Every snarl and curse and lie replay before my eyes and I can't help but relive it. And I do.
I remember overhearing a classmate in kindergarten saying "Sticks and stones may break my bones but names can never hurt me". I find myself smiling as I think of the innocence we have as children and how I have come to realize over the years just how little that saying is applicable to me and my life. Sure, it hurt to be lit on fire, shot, beaten and be exposed to weaponized anthrax, but over time I was able to heal and I have very few scars to show for my ordeals. For me, it is every snarl from my frustrated father, every patronizing "kid" from Morgan, every scream of terror from victims and wails of despair from their families that do the real damage. Some of it is small, negligible even, while others are undeniably painful and traumatic. I don't have the luxury of time and the haze it throws over memories like a dark and soothing shroud. They just compound, one on top of the other. In this, I am alone.
The team is my family and I know that they would do anything for me but they can't fix this. They can stand by me but in the end I am still alone.
Loneliness is quite similar to darkness and as I lay on my bed in my hotel room by myself, I can't help but give into the sudden urge to turn on the bed side lamp before pulling the covers up around my neck like I did as a frightened child. I look at the clock again and sigh. Only four hours and 27 more minutes until I have to get up.
Morgan and Garcia are always joking about the job and how we are like real life superheroes. In a way they are right. I love my job. I could never see myself doing anything else. It's just that …..I never realized that what makes me so effective at my job, would make my life so painful. I had always dreamed of having a family and I found one in my team and yet, despite them, I am alone.
I am alone because I can't forget.