Loss
This is my (much delayed) response to Kutner's death... It was written a while ago and I just rediscovered it. I didn't edit anything and I wrote it before I saw any of the following episodes so some things may not be accurate.
I don't own House.
House
Everyone hurts in their own ways. Me? I rant and rave. Toss the blame at everyone. Even myself. Then I try to understand the thing that's causing me pain- the reason why it hurts me. They think that I'm only paying attention to it –the pain- because it's a puzzle. The puzzle is my distraction from the pain. Nothing more. Nothing less. I can't tell them that though. I'm too arrogant for that. With good reason, too. I'm the best there is. They think that once the puzzle is solved, I'll leave it at that. And, as far as they know, I will. Sometimes it takes a while though. It takes time to understand, to rationalize through pain. Emotional pain at least. Physical pain is pretty cut and dry. This happened and this is why it hurts. Emotions aren't like that. You can't just swallow some aspirin or stop doing something and it'll all be better. No. Emotions don't follow any particular logical path. They vary from person to person. People deal with them differently. That's why I like being a Diagnostician. Diagnostics are logical. They don't change their directions without reason. Emotions though… They don't care what you think. They swing wildly back and forth tugging you along like a dog with a chew toy. Problem is: you're the chew toy. Not the dog. That is why people are hard to deal with. They don't all follow the same pattern. I don't know why Kutner killed himself. I want to know. To understand. To make my emotions make sense. At first I blamed everyone. Illogically. Because that's the way these things work. Then I obsessed and reasoned and I just couldn't stop thinking… I tried… I pretended everything was normal. I pretended that Cuddy didn't hire a grief counselor. I pretended that I couldn't take those free days off because I didn't want to. I pretended that the patients didn't actually remind me of him with every suicide attempt an attempt to save each other. And I couldn't. Because there actually was a grief counselor. And, given those free days before, I would've taken them. Now I don't even want to be alone. Responsibilities be damned. And I was reminded of him everywhere I went. The very walls of the hospital seemed darker without him. And… I went home. I ate. I drank. I even watched TV… And then I went to bed. And I lied down… And I didn't sleep. And then I realized my problem. I'm going to miss him. I'm going to miss him. And, with that, it all clicked into place. I couldn't stop my eyes from prickling. The pure mortification burned almost as much as the tears. And I couldn't stop the tears that burned their way down my face. And I felt so stupid and helpless. Suddenly it was all I could do not to sob out loud… I blamed myself. I blamed myself for not noticing. I tortured myself for every little thing I did. Then I got mad. At myself. I nearly suffocated myself with my pillow. I just wanted the tears to stop…
When I woke up the next day I took a shower and washed my face. And went back to work as though nothing had happened the night before. I pretended it was all the same. That nothing had changed.