The right thing to do

Has anypony ever told you that you did the right thing, but it doesn't help? That was how it had happened with me. The doctors and nurses had all told me I had done the right thing - my squadron had told me I'd done the right thing - my family had told me I had done the right thing…that didn't change anything though. I was still locked up in a hospital.

After three weeks they let me go. They gave me back my freedom, but it had changed. A little bottle of pills had been attached to it now. I hated that little bottle of pills but what other choice did I have? They held up their end of the deal so long as I held up mine.

After a while of dutifully taking them on schedule, I felt like I was getting better. Maybe I was just being a featherbrain, or cocky, but I told myself I didn't need those pills. I had always been a flyer, and I couldn't imagine being earthbound by something as small as a white tablet.

The first night wasn't too bad. Vivid, strange images filled my dreams, but they were oddities that held no meaning for me. I passed them by with only the slightest hint of restlessness. After all, no dream had ever hurt anypony and it was almost kind of entertaining.

The second night, the dreams came back. This time the images had noticed me, changed to ponies and places I recognized. It was all unsettling as they closed in around me and watched. I didn't sleep well that night…

That morning I noticed changes. My hooves were shaking and my flight captain had said my eyes were distant, like pinpricks in a sea of rusted amber. I shook it off and told him I was fine. I made it through work without any accidents and from all the energy it took me to keep calm through the day, I was ready for sleep.

The third night…would not let me. I tossed and turned for hours, every time my body willed my eyes closed some deep part of me hurled terrible memories I knew to be false. None of those things had happened. My brain was losing the ability to tell between subconscious and conscious thought.

That morning, I looked even more disheveled. I had barely been able to hold my brush without shaking so hard I'd drop it. It was a miracle I even got it pulled back before getting into my uniform and heading to work. I barely remember that day. I can recall how skittish I was, almost bursting into tears at the smallest provocation from anypony. That's bad enough in any normal job - but in the military? I was beginning to get criticized looks and whispers that I felt were too loud not to hear. Only superior ranking ponies knew about what had happened with the doctors and exchanged worried, hastened reports with each other.

I've never been very good at taking social criticism, and all that whispering was eating me alive from the inside. I almost took off at a run as soon as work ended to see the doctor about what was happening. My hooves felt like lead, and as badly as I wanted to be there, my body just wouldn't respond beyond a sluggish half-there state of awareness. By the time I got there, the clinic had closed. I hastily scrawled a message and pinned it to the doctor's door, hoping he would get it.

That night, the fourth night, I didn't sleep at all. My vision was swimming in tears brought on by relentless anxiety and the inability to cope. How could I fall this far? After being locked up for three weeks, how could I be right back to where I started?

Then it hit me like a freight train. I felt like I had swallowed a chunk of ice that sat heavy in my stomach, and I wanted to be ill. My eyes roved my bedroom until they hazily focused on the empty pill bottle. I knew then I had been dragged down not by the pills, but by my pride, and now I was paying for it.

By that afternoon I was a train wreck. I couldn't stop crying and I spasmed with every breath, as though the air was going to shred my lungs if I dared breathe. The doctor just watched me, unapproving of my excuse of simply having forgotten to get them refilled. I hadn't forgotten. I had wanted my freedom. The meeting could have only lasted three…maybe four minutes…but it felt like an eternity. I couldn't focus on the words his mouth was making, and the awareness of it just made me cry harder - rendering me unable to respond in any other way than choking out, "PLEASE give me my pills! PLEASE!" Somehow, he managed to make it out more quickly after I broke out in a fresh batch of sobs, and let me go.

I made it two steps out the door before sprinting as hard as my legs would let me to the pharmacy. The people there were, thankfully, merciful. They handed over the things I had come to despise and desire all at the same time, and I thanked them with every fiber of my heart.

That night I took my pill and lay down. I was already scared and jittery from the previous nightmares that had taken advantage of my state. That night…no nightmares came. In fact, nothing did. I fell into a dreamless sleep that took mercy on my body and mind rest in peace.

I woke up the next morning and the first thing I looked at was my hooves. They had stopped shaking. I then went to the mirror and looked  closely at myself for the first time in several days. The dark circles under my eyes weren't gone, but diminished, and my eyes had dilated back to the size they should be. For the first time in all those days, I smiled briefly and picked up my pill bottle again.

My freedom would never be free again, but only if I let myself take it away. No pill could change that and I know now that I will fly again someday when they have helped me learn to fly one more time. The things I thought had chained me down were now giving me one more chance to live my life and taste freedom for what might be the very first time - and I knew then I had done the right thing.