I can't remember how long it's been since I was last at the range and I'm kind of itching to get back. Those days were simpler, when I spent every moment of the day practicing. That or running the infirmary with Will. I was probably two or three the first time my dad tried to teach me. He'd wanted to enter the Olympics but that dream went into the dumpster as soon as I came into the picture, and between working and taking care of me he didn't have time to practice anymore. As I got older I realized how important it was to him. I decided. I'd be good enough, and I'd enter as soon as I was old enough. I'd be someone he could love and I'd make it worth it.
When I was 9 and entered Camp Half-Blood it became something more than that. I didn't have powers like some of the other half-bloods. It became my lifeline, the only thing that I had to rely on. The only thing that could protect me. Not just me. It protected others too. One miss, and I could lose Will. Or Austin. Or anyone else. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be noticed by someone else too. Apollo. Maybe if he knew how good I was he'd want to get to know me. I wanted to know why he'd left me, why I'd never gotten a single sign from him until the day I was claimed. Did he think I was worthless? I would show him.
So naturally, I pushed myself too hard. I didn't let the scars on my face and arms from the bowstring bother me. They marked me as an archer. And I was good. Really good, and I knew it. Everyone knew it. They usually credited it to my dad, Apollo, who was the god of archery after all. But I hated to think the one thing I was really good at was because of him. I was the best, but that still wasn't enough. One mistake could be the difference between life and death. I couldn't stop now. I remember the time my right wrist, my shooting hand, started hurting, and I didn't tell anyone. Will would tell me to take a break, and I couldn't let that happen. One mistake. Day by day the pain grew and I did my best to ignore it but at night I'd cry myself to sleep. What if something was really wrong? If something was permanently wrong, if I couldn't shoot again... On the fourth day I knew I wouldn't even be able to hold a bow correctly and gave in. I told Will, who made me take a break just like I knew he would. But I was back in a few days.
Where did that motivation go? Was it losing Austin, who was my biggest cheerleader or Will leaving? Maybe a combination of both or just the simple fact of my mental health taking a nosedive. Pretty stupid of me to cut up my wrists like that when that's so crucial to good form. What was I thinking?
Well anyway. It's like 5 am and I still haven't slept. I have a therapy session in a few hours. My mind is still racing but I'll try to go to sleep.
