Do you ever feel like breaking down?
Do you ever feel out of place?
Like somehow you just don't belong
And no one understands you
Do you ever want to run away?
Do you lock yourself in your room?
With the radio on turned up so loud
That no one hears you screaming
No you don't know what its like
When nothing feels alright
You don't know what its like to be like me
To be hurt, to feel lost
To be left out in the dark
To be kicked when you're down
To feel like you've been pushed around
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one there to save you
No you don't know what its like
Welcome to my life
With the big fake smiles and stupid lies
But deep inside you're bleeding
No you don't know what its like
When nothing feels alright
You don't know what its like to be like me
To be hurt
To feel lost
To be on the edge of breaking down
And no one there to save you
No you don't know what its like
What its like
To be hurt
To feel lost
Welcome to my life
Rick sat in Michonne Anthony's office. His stomach rolled and twisted; he hated these monthly appointments. If he had any other option he would never darken this woman's doorstep but he needed the prescriptions that would only be doled out by Dr. Negan; prescriptions he would only receive if he went to this traumatizing appointments. The only thing that was good about this was the fact that he had both appointments back to back.
He hated waiting. Granted he had the first appointment and they let him in their break room instead of the waiting room but that was beside the point. He couldn't make his hands stop shaking, his mind from racing or his leg from bouncing.
He twisted in his chair to look at the clock, he wanted this over with. Seconds later Dr. Anthony opened the door with her placid-meant-to-be-comforting smile.
"How are we today, Rick?" She walked down the hall and turned into her office as she spoke. Trailing behind her like an obedient dog, after all he wanted his meds; he ignored the use of 'we', and finally murmured "fine."
Rick suddenly felt deflated. He wanted to be at home, nothing new, but this time the reason wasn't. It was because he hadn't checked his e-mail. It was an odd feeling; looking forward to something each day again.
"What are you thinking about?"
He looked up at her, eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because you almost smiled." Michonne's voice was soft, and inquisitive. "What's changed?"
"Nothing." He didn't want to talk about his family.
Michonne sat back and sighed in frustration. "You are the most difficult man I have ever dealt with. I have never met someone who makes me feel so unprofessional and useless. I want to help you, I know I'll never be able to relate to the things you have seen or done. But I can at least listen." Michonne leaned forward, she knew this was the wrong way to go about this but she had tried everything else. She reached out and touched Rick's hand. "I'll sit and listen, if you won't let me be your doctor then let me be your friend."
Rick stood and went toward the window, his body tight with stress and shaking visibly. For the first time since she'd met him, Michonne could see fighter that had been hidden. The one she knew was there, she'd seen his records. You don't do what the man standing before her had done, without becoming a warrior. She'd been waiting for the anger, but he'd never worked passed it, just repressed it and it was eating its way through him in a way more deadly than cancer.
After his day shift Rick went home to an empty house. Another microwave dinner, another few shots of whiskey, and he went out to the back porch to look up at the darkened sky. The stars were out…billions, it seemed. He missed being out there, and he missed being with Lori. They would sit on the back porch for hours after Carl fell asleep. Sometimes they would just look at the stars in comfortable silence, but most of the time they would end up making love, in the dark, on the back porch. It was sensual, and erotic, and their thing to do. Their way of expressing intimacy.
But Dr. Anthony was right. Lori was dead, he could hide here until the world faded into dust and it wouldn't change that. So he could stay in his house for the next fifty years and be alone and wait for death, or he could get back out there.
Go back to what he loved even before he'd loved Lori. Go back to living, even if it was a mess. He could feel the anxiety rolling around in his chest, and he wondered if he was strong enough, selfless enough for this.
Part of him knew Lori wouldn't have wanted this. He wouldn't want Rick to grieve this way. But Lori wasn't here now. She was gone. So was Carl, and their baby girl.
Lori was gone and that was the only thought that Rick could focus on. It was all he could do to get out of bed every morning. He took every breath knowing it was him, not Lori who should have died. His job was dangerous, she was a stay at home mom. Every second of the day he saw and felt Lori's bloody, broken body as if it were still growing cold in his arms. He wanted nothing more than to wake up and discover all this was a terrible nightmare. It wasn't, and Rick knew it because it hurt too much to be anything but real.
He could never heal like this, and he would never be able to walk around without looking for Lori. Two years wouldn't be enough. A lifetime might not be.
Nothing will ever be normal again.
After locking up the house and heading upstairs, Rick sat woodenly on his bed. He was so tired. Everything hurt; even his clothing was too heavy and rough.
Everything was changing; it was too fast, too hard and too much. Rick looked at the bottles lined up like little tiny orange plastic soldiers on his nightstand and for a moment thought about how easy it would be. A hand full of that, a hand full of this and he could fall asleep. He could sleep through it all and when he woke up he would be away from all of this. He could be with his family.