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To Whom It May Concern
by Jackyblu
This sucks! I can't stop shaking or my teeth from chattering together. It is very hard to type this because I can't control my hands. Why anyone would choose to go through this is beyond me. I just took a half hoping that it would calm me down enough to function. I don't want more than that, I just want to function.
Why is that so hard for some people to understand? I didn't bring this on myself! It happened to me. I was fine until fate or whatever intervened. I wasn't looking for constant pain in my leg. It happened against my will. Now I'm stuck with it, and I just want to cope.
Walking with a cane is a pain in the ass. Never having two hands free. Always need to figure out how to do simple tasks with one hand occupied. Where to put the cane when doing something that requires both hands. How to carry something and open a door for myself, takes balance and coordination I can tell you. Right now my life is seriously out of balance.
The medication is working and I am calming down. It has done little to dull the pain, but at least I have stopped shaking like a Parkinson's patient. One plus point for me.
I can function very effectively when I am not stumbling around or in pain. I am good at my job. I am told that constantly. I don't require the confirmation. I know that I am good. What's wrong with that? What's wrong at wanting to do the best I can? I can't do my best if I can't think about anything but the pain. If I didn't have the pain I wouldn't need the damn pills. But, if I didn't have the pills, the pain would not magically go away. They are not interchangeable. I wish they were.
So I take my pills and I get through my day. I take a shower. I do my job. I live my life. Pretty simple equation really. I don't take my pills, I shake, my heart races, I am sick to my stomach, my leg hurts like hell, I can't think and my emotions are raw. I am laid open bare, and vulnerable, and that is simply not acceptable.
But you know all of this. So why am I writing you this letter?
It's for me. I can say anything to you here. I can scream, cry, curse you and God, or be completely honest here on paper and have no concerns, because you will never read this.
I can tell you that I hate you for doing this to me. How could you have betrayed me like this? I didn't do anything wrong! This was a vendetta against me! I thought you would stand with me on this. You didn't. You helped them, and now I am alone in this hell.
I will finish writing this letter to you. I will read it over a few times. Then I will burn it like I do with all of the letters I have written you over the years. Well...most of them anyway.
Detoxing and hurting like hell,
Greg
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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