Chapter Two "Shadow Of My Former Self"
Abby Lockhart
This cannot be my life, this cannot be what I was destined to be doing at this point in my
life. Wracked with nausea, tormented by nightmares, this isn't where I'm supposed to be,
isn't who I'm supposed to be. I pull myself up onto my awkward crutches, cursing my
injured leg. Stomach churning as it does every morning, I hobble towards the bathroom.
I'm three months pregnant. Give or take. I'm crippled and useless. How can I be a mother
to this child when I can't even look after myself? I'm watching my life slip slowly away
from me. I watched his life ebb away, now I'm watching mine do the exact same thing.
Except I'm alive. I lived. I was strong enough to get out. Strong enough? Or cowardly
enough? Would dying have been the brave option? Would I have been a hero?
My body was hit with blow after blow in the hours following the worst news. Each one felt
like a physical wound, and each one hurt me a little more. 8 deaths altogether and that's
just the staff. Getting out suddenly seemed such a curse to me. I suddenly wished I'd held
onto his hand and died there with him. It would have taken more strength to stay than to
leave. I pull myself up slowly and stare into the mirror. It doesn't seem like it's me looking
back from the glass, but it is.
I'm a mere shadow of my former self. It isn't a pretty image, but it's fact. Limp hair,
sallow skin, sunken eyes and that's just what people see. The inside - the part I hide - is
rotting away also. Grief, guilt and pain are destroying me like a cancer. This is truly what
dying feels like.
Dying is losing all those important to you in one moment of insanity, one minute of
complete madness that turns your world upside down. Dying is trying to go on after it's
happened. Dying is actually living with the pain of survival. Ironic isn't it? I never
understood survivor's guilt until now. Not really. Thinking of how I left things - never
knowing what he thought, never knowing if he'd have supported me. That's stupid, of
course he would. He loved me too much not to. But having unanswered questions and
knowing they'll remain unanswered, I can't go on. I can't. Damn being so emotionally
guarded. There's no way to take back everything I said. Because he's dead. And I have to
live with that for the rest of my life. How do you go on after something like this?
Retching uncontrollably into the bowl, yet again, I don't think I know. I just want it all to
be over. I used to think I was stronger than anything life could throw at me. I wasn't was
I?
Abby Lockhart
This cannot be my life, this cannot be what I was destined to be doing at this point in my
life. Wracked with nausea, tormented by nightmares, this isn't where I'm supposed to be,
isn't who I'm supposed to be. I pull myself up onto my awkward crutches, cursing my
injured leg. Stomach churning as it does every morning, I hobble towards the bathroom.
I'm three months pregnant. Give or take. I'm crippled and useless. How can I be a mother
to this child when I can't even look after myself? I'm watching my life slip slowly away
from me. I watched his life ebb away, now I'm watching mine do the exact same thing.
Except I'm alive. I lived. I was strong enough to get out. Strong enough? Or cowardly
enough? Would dying have been the brave option? Would I have been a hero?
My body was hit with blow after blow in the hours following the worst news. Each one felt
like a physical wound, and each one hurt me a little more. 8 deaths altogether and that's
just the staff. Getting out suddenly seemed such a curse to me. I suddenly wished I'd held
onto his hand and died there with him. It would have taken more strength to stay than to
leave. I pull myself up slowly and stare into the mirror. It doesn't seem like it's me looking
back from the glass, but it is.
I'm a mere shadow of my former self. It isn't a pretty image, but it's fact. Limp hair,
sallow skin, sunken eyes and that's just what people see. The inside - the part I hide - is
rotting away also. Grief, guilt and pain are destroying me like a cancer. This is truly what
dying feels like.
Dying is losing all those important to you in one moment of insanity, one minute of
complete madness that turns your world upside down. Dying is trying to go on after it's
happened. Dying is actually living with the pain of survival. Ironic isn't it? I never
understood survivor's guilt until now. Not really. Thinking of how I left things - never
knowing what he thought, never knowing if he'd have supported me. That's stupid, of
course he would. He loved me too much not to. But having unanswered questions and
knowing they'll remain unanswered, I can't go on. I can't. Damn being so emotionally
guarded. There's no way to take back everything I said. Because he's dead. And I have to
live with that for the rest of my life. How do you go on after something like this?
Retching uncontrollably into the bowl, yet again, I don't think I know. I just want it all to
be over. I used to think I was stronger than anything life could throw at me. I wasn't was
I?