Hi there!
I had more time today than I thought, so the first letter is done earlier than expected. Each one has a different topic. Thanks for the kind words on the prologue and for favoriting and following; it means so much!
Enjoy!
Castle,
You don't understand how much pain I'm in. The meds are starting to wear off, and the pain is slowly but surely creeping up from every angle, every nerve ending, and every last corner of my mind. It's teasing me, reminding me that I'm broken. I've got pieces missing, I ripped, I cracked, I died. I had everything taken away from me, but I fought to get it back, and it left me with a clear reminder that it was angry that I had won. So now, for now, I have to feel this hell inside of me. It was a victory, so why am I hurting so badly? What doesn't kill you makes you stronger? Bullshit.
Sometimes I think I rather have died, wish that the fucker would have made his mark. One precise, painless rip through my heart, leaving me lying on the grass; I wouldn't have had those few horrifying seconds on the ground though, because I would have already been gone. I wouldn't have been sliced open and had my insides violated. But I made it, and I have to sit here as my scar tugs and twists my side. I can't wear what I want or it'll rub and send shooting pain through my core; I learned that the hard way. I can't eat what I want; can't upset my stomach; too late, it's always in knots. I can't work, I can't clean, I can't shower, I can't do anything, because if I move too ambitiously, take too deep of a breath, hell, blink too hard, the pain takes over.
You'd think that was the worst of it, right? I wish. The burning in my chest is like running straight into a brick wall. It makes it hard to breathe, the heat exploding over and over like I'm walking through hell, ready to dance with the devil. It will flare up in the middle of the day without warning, feeling like someone's digging their nails into my heart and laughing at me. The pain leaves me on my knees, biting on my hand and squeezing my eyes shut to keep from passing out. The pressure is enough to make me want to pull my hair out. It's like nothing I've ever experienced, besides taking the initial bullet. And then, it's gone, like it hadn't even happened. It fucks with me. Maybe I am crazy. I have a token for the life that I lost, and one for the life that I saved. So why do I get a hole in my chest for being alive? For bringing justice. For trying to make a difference. The world has a pretty screwed up way of showing its appreciation. Life's a bitch.
It hurts the worst at the end of the day when I have nothing else to do but focus on it. I dread sunsets because that means it's just going to get darker and darker until my subconscious reminds me that it still hurts so bad. That it's the worst pain I've ever experienced. I can feel it pulsating and itching and putting pressure on everything in its path. I lay awake at night begging it to go away. Praying that it will give me one moment of peace, to catch my breath, to process my thoughts, to just be. I guess that's too damn hard to do. It takes everything I have not to scream out just for that one second of relief that it brings. So I lay there with a pillow over my tear stained face to keep every fucking thing inside like I always do. I'm so sick of it that I'm now hurting from that too.
It's a different pain, though. It sits in my gut inching its way around and around, reminding me that I screwed up. I went down a deep, dark path, and never made my way back. I can't be anything but strong. I can't show weakness and I can't cry in front of others, and I can't express myself because I trained myself not to. I built these walls up and before I knew it, I was trapped inside; too small to climb out and be who I once was. I wanted to be so far away from everything that was going on that I didn't realize it was screwing me for the long run. I let it define me, drive me, it's made me who I am; if only I would have known then what I know now. I don't want to be that anymore. All I want is to tell someone I'm not okay, have someone hold me in their arms and make this new found pain go away. It hurts the worst. I screwed up, and I don't know if I can go back.
I wake up every morning, and the pain hits me again, makes me gasp for breath. Then, I have to pick myself up and go through my day, all alone in this big empty cabin. I want to get better and stop hurting and come back and be normal, but I can't until the physical and mental and emotion pain decides to leave me alone. Until this hole in my chest stops mocking me. Until I can breathe without thinking my side will rip open. Until I can be that person that I once was, that I want to be so, so badly. But until then, I need to let the pain consume me, and hope I can make it out okay. Hope can do crazy things, just like a sniper's bullet. But I didn't let that take me down, and I won't let the pain suffocate me, I can't. No matter how bad it hurts. I'll be okay.
Beckett
Please review!
xoxo