[Multiple Locks]
[Private]
I’ve been here eight months. As of today. How can… I feel more lost now than I did then. Having spent my whole life (or as much of it as I can remember--one never thinks what it’s like to forget, and to remember you’ve forgotten) before now living in confidence, suddenly having to find my way is…
Hard.
Why can words not look as painful as they feel?
I want to be told what to do. I want someone to guide me. I want to fall back into that pattern of reliance into which I was raised, and that shames me. It seems each time I take a step forward, the ground gives way under me.
I said I wouldn’t use my gift in keeping with the edicts I was raised into, and then I unmade the violent, used it to attack those who could not defend against it. I swore not to use the ability to shift as an escape. Robin left me, and I was willing to subject those who still knew me to the pain of my loss once again.
And here I must pause to wonder what kind of pain that would be, if it wouldn’t be worth it to be out of their lives, to keep from hurting them again. And then I question that, too--the motivation behind it; to free them from me, or to free myself from the guilt of involving them in my sequence of catastrophes. I question everything, these days. Every memory, every impulse, every word and emotion. I exhaust myself with wondering. Is this living your own life? Stumbling through the mire of conflicting emotions, impulses, ethics, until you’re up to your chest and wondering why you’ve yet to drown?
Once again, I don’t know what to do. Somehow the position isn’t one that gives me pride or comfort any more.
[Locked to the Doctor, Dusty, and Robin; locked against replies from the same]
I feel as though I’ve failed you all. Please, don’t stop reading there and tell me that I’ve not; at this point, your forgiveness will only compound my own guilt. What I’ve done to each and every one of you is…
I’m sorry.
Doctor: I used you. I took advantage of your own native abilities and turned them on the people of this city. I made you witness to the unmaking of people who, while they might have been murderers themselves, still had the right to live. I made you see things... relive things... I have no words
I can't apologize enough.
Dusty: I’ve made you worry. I’ve… You have so many things you’re trying to wade through on your own, and I’ve added my own failures mistakes mess. I haven’t been there for you, but you continue to help and support me. I don’t… You deserve better than this. You deserve so much more than me.
Robin: You were the one who
I can’t
I’m so sorry, I didn’t
Please
Promise me you won’t feel guilty for leaving.
[Locked to the Prophet and Eli]
I would like to see you. Please.
I’ve been here eight months. As of today. How can… I feel more lost now than I did then. Having spent my whole life (or as much of it as I can remember--one never thinks what it’s like to forget, and to remember you’ve forgotten) before now living in confidence, suddenly having to find my way is…
Hard.
Why can words not look as painful as they feel?
I want to be told what to do. I want someone to guide me. I want to fall back into that pattern of reliance into which I was raised, and that shames me. It seems each time I take a step forward, the ground gives way under me.
I said I wouldn’t use my gift in keeping with the edicts I was raised into, and then I unmade the violent, used it to attack those who could not defend against it. I swore not to use the ability to shift as an escape. Robin left me, and I was willing to subject those who still knew me to the pain of my loss once again.
And here I must pause to wonder what kind of pain that would be, if it wouldn’t be worth it to be out of their lives, to keep from hurting them again. And then I question that, too--the motivation behind it; to free them from me, or to free myself from the guilt of involving them in my sequence of catastrophes. I question everything, these days. Every memory, every impulse, every word and emotion. I exhaust myself with wondering. Is this living your own life? Stumbling through the mire of conflicting emotions, impulses, ethics, until you’re up to your chest and wondering why you’ve yet to drown?
Once again, I don’t know what to do. Somehow the position isn’t one that gives me pride or comfort any more.
[Locked to the Doctor, Dusty, and Robin; locked against replies from the same]
I feel as though I’ve failed you all. Please, don’t stop reading there and tell me that I’ve not; at this point, your forgiveness will only compound my own guilt. What I’ve done to each and every one of you is…
I’m sorry.
Doctor: I used you. I took advantage of your own native abilities and turned them on the people of this city. I made you witness to the unmaking of people who, while they might have been murderers themselves, still had the right to live. I made you see things... relive things... I have no words
I can't apologize enough.
Dusty: I’ve made you worry. I’ve… You have so many things you’re trying to wade through on your own, and I’ve added my own failures mistakes mess. I haven’t been there for you, but you continue to help and support me. I don’t… You deserve better than this. You deserve so much more than me.
Robin: You were the one who
I can’t
I’m so sorry, I didn’t
Please
Promise me you won’t feel guilty for leaving.
[Locked to the Prophet and Eli]
I would like to see you. Please.