Milliways: Strength of will.
Sometime around noon, everything stopped getting worse. By three or four in the afternoon, the chills had gone from hard enough to shake the infirmary bed she was in to just a constant trembling. The nausea lessened. She could sip at water or tea without throwing up.
So early in the evening, because she doesn't like hospital-like places, April moved back up to her room, with some assistance. She was still weak, of course, and she was still feeling more than a little ill, but it wasn't anything she couldn't cope with. Barely.
And now she's curled up on her bed, in her warmest pajamas, wrapped in a blanket and staring out the window. Sontag is curled up on her feet asleep. Boromir, as far as she knows, is either in his room or working. She has a notebook propped against her knees, and every so often she stops staring out the window to scribble in a shaky, mostly illegible scrawl.
I really screwed up this time. I don't want to go back to being who I was before I came here, but I'm scared to death that I don't have a choice.
What if some people just aren't strong enough to break the habits that hurt them, no matter how much they want to? What if I'm one of them?
I don't want to slip up again. This once was enough to prove to me that I don't want this, no matter how much I think I do. I don't need it - the past... god, almost two years now have taught me that much.
I can be happy here. With Boromir. I just have to get through this. I just have to keep getting through this, 'cause apparently it doesn't end even when you think it has. It just lies in wait. And I have to remember that. I have to remember so that if the cravings come back, I won't be surprised. I'll be able to say "I've been expecting you", and promptly kick their proverbial asses. I will be strong enough, if only because everyone seems to think I can be.
That's got to count for something, right? People believing in you. Maybe the more they believe in you, the more strength you have.
I'm gonna be strong. I'm gonna stay clean. And I am not going to give in again. No way, no how.
I just hope I can actually back those words up with actions.
God, help me. I don't know if I believe in you or not, but... well, this would be a great time to prove you care. If Father Mulcahy's right, that is, about you existing and caring.
I think I want him to be right.
There are a few more nearly-incoherent scribblings, and then the notebook is abandoned as she falls into a fitful sleep.
So early in the evening, because she doesn't like hospital-like places, April moved back up to her room, with some assistance. She was still weak, of course, and she was still feeling more than a little ill, but it wasn't anything she couldn't cope with. Barely.
And now she's curled up on her bed, in her warmest pajamas, wrapped in a blanket and staring out the window. Sontag is curled up on her feet asleep. Boromir, as far as she knows, is either in his room or working. She has a notebook propped against her knees, and every so often she stops staring out the window to scribble in a shaky, mostly illegible scrawl.
I really screwed up this time. I don't want to go back to being who I was before I came here, but I'm scared to death that I don't have a choice.
What if some people just aren't strong enough to break the habits that hurt them, no matter how much they want to? What if I'm one of them?
I don't want to slip up again. This once was enough to prove to me that I don't want this, no matter how much I think I do. I don't need it - the past... god, almost two years now have taught me that much.
I can be happy here. With Boromir. I just have to get through this. I just have to keep getting through this, 'cause apparently it doesn't end even when you think it has. It just lies in wait. And I have to remember that. I have to remember so that if the cravings come back, I won't be surprised. I'll be able to say "I've been expecting you", and promptly kick their proverbial asses. I will be strong enough, if only because everyone seems to think I can be.
That's got to count for something, right? People believing in you. Maybe the more they believe in you, the more strength you have.
I'm gonna be strong. I'm gonna stay clean. And I am not going to give in again. No way, no how.
I just hope I can actually back those words up with actions.
God, help me. I don't know if I believe in you or not, but... well, this would be a great time to prove you care. If Father Mulcahy's right, that is, about you existing and caring.
I think I want him to be right.
There are a few more nearly-incoherent scribblings, and then the notebook is abandoned as she falls into a fitful sleep.