It's the first thing I experience when I wake up. And the last thing I feel when I go to sleep. For over five years now, this had been my life. Waking up in pain, walking in pain… Talking, laughing, joking… In pain…

The alarm clock buzzed angrily. I had been up for at least an hour already, contemplating the difficulties I would have today. Sighing, I lifted my sheets away from my bummed leg.

Pain again.

It shot through me like… I have no metaphors to describe it. All I can say is that it hurts like hell.

I checked my cell phone. Several missed calls. Oops. I threw the phone down onto the wood of my bedside cabinet and grabbed the tiny bottle of pills that rested underneath my pillow. I stared at them for a moment, thinking about how much my life had changed since… Since she left me…

I popped open the top and counted out two tiny pills. My hand shook madly as I tipped them into my mouth. I stood up, knowing the effects would be sudden.

I grabbed my cane and limped around my bedroom, before coming to a stop barely a few feet away from where I started. The effects of the vicodin were just kicking in. It made my head numb. I blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the sudden onset.

I breathed heavily and sat back down on the bed. I fell back onto the covers and wished that I could crawl back inside them and die.

But I couldn't…

I had a patient… Chase, Cameron and Foreman were smart… But not smart enough.

I had only taken them as fellows because Cuddy had ordered me to. But now… I don't know, they are sorta growing on me after three years.

I shook the thought away. I never get attached to anyone. I'm not the needy cripple everyone seems to think I am. They never say it, but its there in their eyes when they talk to me. I know that they look at the cane and see only a cripple. They don't seem to understand that there is more to me than the life that I am living now.

On good days, and I mean really good days, the pain is barely above tolerable. On bad days, it seemed to just drain the life from me even though I have had enough vicodin to take down an elephant. Vicodin just didn't work the way it used to. Of course, I couldn't change to a stronger script because Wilson will tell me that the pain is just psychological. Cuddy would think I'm just wanting to get high and everyone else just sees me as a vigilante flooding the streets with drugs.

I am not like that…