It’s been six months, today, since Tony died.
181 days of… breathing. Taking great big gasps of air, whenever the pain recedes enough to do so.
People don’t survive that long in the wilderness.
They said it would be slightly better at this point, that it would hurt a little bit less. They were right. This is relief, even if it doesn’t feel that way.
It feels as if I were burned, horribly, six months ago. Burnt, and in pain, for weeks that felt endless.
And now those raw nerves, that exposed flesh, is covered with scar tissue.
And I’m so horribly numb.
Every now and then, something will scratch through that thick grafted skin, hit a nerve. Sometimes it bleeds. Sometimes it even makes me cry.
And sometimes, those sizzled nerve endings, they begin to regrow. And they hurt, they sting, they itch. I could go insane from that itch inside my head. (Why…?).
I will never look the same again.