Page 140 of Burned & Bound

Now, we just need to build again.

Your turn, West. Did you buy the yellow sweater?

Jackson

Jackson,

Channel all that frustration about your physical therapist into physical therapy. It’ll be a good outlet for that. Besides, it sounds like the new guy can take whatever you throw at him.

It’s okay to be scared. I’ve learned that much. But don’t let your fear be the driver. You are. You can do this.

And if you don’t walk again, it’ll still be okay. But if there was anyone who was going to walk away from this, it’s you.

You can do this, Jackson, and I’ll keep believing that for the both of us until you do.

I did buy the sweater… but I can’t make myself put it on. I did hang it up in my room where I can see it. I’m trying really fucking hard to be okay with it.

I don’t feel great right now, but my therapist says that it’s normal to struggle with what we’re doing. That it can happen when pushing hard on things that trigger us. We’re going to the farm later today. No talking, just horses. I need it.

How are my horses?

West

West,

Drill Sergeant Dan put me on the parallel bars. I sent you a picture. Take that fucking picture to your grave but I did it. Well, I sort of did it. I can’t walk yet. Fuck, I’m not even sure if I’m even standing or just using my arms to hold myself up.

It still counts, right? I’m still counting it. It’s fucking progress in some capacity.

And guess what? We have five pregnant heifers. It’s not much, but it’s a start. Now, ask me how they got pregnant. Because it sure as fuck wasn’t our doing. No fucking Sir. Not a single cow we inseminated is pregnant.

Ferdinand got out and made some fucking friends—literally.

Including Daisy.

The fucker knocked up my girl.

As for your horses… Thunder Jack misses you. I’ve never seen a horse sulk the way that horse is. I was worried that he wouldn’t handle others caring for him, but he’s doing well. Peter has taken a lot of time with him. It helps that Bailey likes Peter. I think Thunder Jack follows her lead. Blind Betty is good. She’s become a hell of an escape artist and made friends with all the cows. At this point, I don’t know why the fuck we bother putting her in a stall. She always gets out anyway.

Now… put on the sweater, West. You can do it.

I believe in you for the both of us.

Jackson

Jackson,

Your picture is hanging at my desk. Just for me, no one else. I’m fucking proud of you. I know it sucks, but you’re doing it.

I put the sweater on. And I’ve worn the sweater for a week. Not consistently but you get the idea. I included a picture for proof. I’m still not sure how I feel wearing yellow… it’s not bad. I’m still working through it.

I sat down with the clinic coordinator, my therapist, and my psychiatrist yesterday. We’ve decided it’s time for me to move out. We have a whole list of things to help me get through the transition. The clinic works with a small apartment complex nearby, so I’m not going far. It’s right down the street. And I’ll still be here every other day for group or individual therapy.

I’m nervous. I’ve never had a home on my own. After I got out of prison, I sort of floated. I did a halfway house for a while but I couldn’t stand living with so many people. I had this cheap trailer I rented for years. It didn’t even have a working bathroom or shit. It was truck stops for showers, bars for bathrooms, or whatever. It worked, but I wouldn’t call it a home.

Nothing has ever felt like home. I don’t know how to build a home. I’m scared I’m going to fail at something everyone else can do. This is supposed to be an easy thing, right? Living on your own? Everyone does it so why does it feel so fucking hard?

I don’t know… I feel stuck in my head about it.

---