Hello. You probably don't know me. My name… Well, my name isn't important. Not anymore. I think it's safe, but you can never be sure. I certainly learned that the hard way.
Anyway, I just self-diagnosed myself with post-traumatic stress disorder. Yay! That's the fun thing about having your doctorate in psychiatry. You always know exactly what's wrong with you. As part of my therapy, I'm going to write about what I did this past summer. Or season. It's hard to tell these days. There's ash everywhere, even though most of the bodies are buried, the colony is still a wreck. We've only now just gotten word that there are other survivors. The Reaper corpses still float in orbit. No one wants to go near them. I try not to think about them. But sometimes, at night, I remember. That's usually when I wake up screaming, feeling the bugs all over me again.
But these days, I'm not alone anymore. That's another part of my therapy. Aeian's with me. We both saw lots of bad things. She's there, at night, when I scream. And I'm there for her. She screams sometimes too. I don't ask why. She doesn't ask me. It isn't important. Everybody seems to have PTSD these days. And of course, no meds, just me, your friendly neighborhood psychiatrist. God, I long for the days when I was a grad student and I knew everything. Back when I was just starting to work for…for Them. I think They are gone. Sometimes, I hear footsteps behind me and expect to see a three headed dog behind me. So far, so good. But I carry a pistol, just in case. Don't tell Aeian; she's still suicidal.
Anyway, I spent these last few months, since the red light and the death of all our good tech and most of the Reapers trying to rebuild. I'm here on Freedom's Progress, actually. It's funny, I helped save this colony from the Collectors, once. Well, anyway I helped keep the people who did save the colony mentally stable. Which was hard, considering some of the personalities I had to work with. A depressed quarian, a turian with a chip the size of a small moon on his shoulder, a biotic criminal that wanted to see the world burn, an old man who had seen too much to give a damn anymore, the perfect woman with a galaxy sized hole where her heart should be, and a man who was too busy doing crunches to think. And of course, Him.
We have a shrine to Him now. Even before we got word that it was Him who did whatever He did to kill the Reapers. It's hard to write his name. I know he saved the galaxy, but He saved me too, twice. I think I loved Him, once. He never really noticed me; I was always just Yeoman to Him. But that's OK. He loved the whole galaxy, more than even me I suppose. Because when it came down to it, I just wasn't strong enough. I ran. I hid. But He didn't. His heart was big enough for everyone. He saved us all. Every single organic being in the galaxy owes him their lives. Some people think He's a god. Some people think He's a saint. Me? Well, I knew Him. I think He was just a man. The best kind of man, but still a man.
Back to me. That's what this therapy thing is about right? Well, I guess that expressing my feelings on various subjects gives a good picture of my overall emotional and intellectual health. If I were at all objective about this, I'm sure what I think about Him would provide me with plenty of material for diagnosis and treatment. As it is, I have a hard time being objective. About anything anymore really. Once you've lived through every kind of hell there is, objectivity goes out the window.
That's pretty much where everyone else here is. We're mostly refugees, there are very few of the original colonists left. Freedom's Progress may have started off as a human colony, but I think we're only barely in the majority now. There are krogan, asari, salarian, drell, batarian and elcor here. The turians, quarians and hanar they sent are all gone. We ran out of dextro supplies, and the hanar all left for the ocean. I hope they made it. We haven't heard from them in a long time. The rest of us are at barely a postindustrial tech level. We work the fields. The krogan hunt game. Most of it is too big and vicious for humans armed only with spears and bows to take out. The guns that work, we save for the Reapers. Or Them. They haven't been seen in a while, and the Reapers seem to be all dead, but none of us feel very comfortable about it.
Have you ever seen an elcor pull a plough? It's actually easier with them than an animal I think, because elcor don't complain much. They work hard, harder than most of us. I think it's because Dekuuna is gone. The batarians are much the same way. They're very nice, as I always knew they would be. Aeian says it's because these are mostly the peasants. The few mercs have more of a mouth, but even they've been cowed. We all have.
I talk with everyone, constantly. There's a waiting list to talk to me. Everyone in the colony is my patient, and I actually practice physical medicine as well as the mental kind I'm better at. Karin taught me the basics, and I picked up more working on the Citadel docks. I treat all kinds of wounds, but most of them are still mental. Everyone has lost someone or something precious. Seen too much. There's a little drell girl here with her big brother. They lost everyone. The other drell try their best to take care of them, especially Kolyat. I think he always wanted siblings. But those two… They were found in a crashed shuttle with their parents' brains splattered all over them. How do you keep going after something like that? How do you tell a little girl it's going to be OK when you know it's not?
I tell them anyway. I tell everyone it's all going to be OK. I feel like a liar, that someone is going to stand up and shout, "No, no it's not all OK you liar! We're all screwed, even if the Reapers are really dead we're all doomed!"
No one ever does. Instead, they smile, nod, and thank me. And come back as soon as they can to hear me say it's all going to be OK again. The words ring hollow in my mouth, but I still say them. It keeps the others going, right? I hope so.
One person does tell me it's all going to be alright. At night, when I lie in her arms, Aeian strokes my hair and tells me it's going to be OK. I know she doesn't think so, because sometimes it's my turn to tell her it's all going to be OK. But I believe her, somehow. At least until the dreams come back.
My hair has turned completely white now. It used to be such a lovely shade of red. My mother called me her little Irish girl, even though we're actually Scottish. I think. I don't know anymore. Earth, what's left of it, doesn't have time for ethnic differences. It's a bleached bone, just like my hair is. It started after He rescued me from the Collector ship. First it was just a bang, but now it's all white. I sort of like it. It makes me feel wise. Dignified. I'm not of course, but I don't giggle much anymore so maybe I am.
Sometimes, instead of dreaming of bugs or metal or dark places, I dream of the good times. Of Him. Of being safe, secure back on the ship. It was all an illusion, none of it was real, but still. It's a nice dream. I feel warm, soft, covered by a big, heavy blanket in a bright white place where there are no shadows and no crawling things. I don't have dreams like that often enough. I don't think I'll ever have nice dreams again. Not more than the nightmares anyway.
I'm also going to be a father. Really. I know I'm a woman, but Aeian wants to have a baby. I agreed. Life is tough here, but everyone who can is having babies. I can't have babies. The time I was gone.… It changed more than my hair. I'll never bear children now. I'm like the perfect woman was, whole on the exterior, but with wounds no one can see on the inside. At least my father never sexually assaulted me. I don't know for sure if that's what happened to her, but I think it was. She acted like it, anyway, in our sessions. The way she acted when she talked about him. The way she isolated herself, never had any meaningful relationships. Who knows? I could be seeing things where they are not. Psychiatrists do that sometimes.
Aeian says that the baby will take a long time. She's a maiden, and we don't have drugs or machines anymore, so we'll have to try the old fashion way. I don't mind at all. When I'm with her, I can forget about bugs and dark places.
If we have a girl, I want to name her Tali. For all her weakness, Tali was very strong. She never broke, not like the others. She was strong, like Him. I think that's why they loved each other so much. They were both strong, both kept fighting no matter what happened. I hear she even made peace with the geth, personally. That's what the geth said anyway. Before they all died. At the same time as the Reapers too. They told us they were going to die a few minutes before it happened. Told us to watch out for the quarians. Then they all laid down and died, right as the red wave hit. We tried to do as they said.
We couldn't. We ran out of food. We didn't' have any ships. They're buried with the geth now, and the turians. I said the prayers myself. Tali had taught me a few quarian ones, and I knew some turian ones from Garrus. It's a pretty place, their grave. There's a big tree and a field of flowers, and open skies. Sometimes at night, I go visit them and talk. Tell them about the new colony we are building. I hope they can hear me.
Sometimes I wonder if the old crew is alive. They said the ship is missing, just like Him. Ashley is alive though. I never met her, but she's a Spectre now. She makes broadcasts from Earth sometimes. It takes a while to get to us, they're weeks or months old by the time we hear them, but it's nice to hear that others are alive. She says they're looking for the others, for Him and for the ship. I don't know if they'll find them. I don't think it matters really. We did what we needed to, or at least the others did. I just talked and listened.
I wonder if anyone is listening to me now? Aeian is calling me. She wants to try again for the baby. New life. Even after all the death, all the destruction, there is new life. I guess we'll keep on going.
If you are reading this, my name is Kelly Chambers. What I did last summer doesn't matter. It's what I do in all the next summers that matters.