(Just a warning, this is a little longer than I originally thought it was going to be…)

Dear diary,

I have done something unimaginable, the exact opposite of what my profession stands for. I’m supposed to heal, to nurse patients into the greatest they can be. But trust me when I say, the greatest this person could be was gone.

See, I had walked into the room where he was being held in, reapplying my amiable mask and pretending the bathroom stalls weren’t still echoing with my sobs. Heartbreak had hit harder than I anticipated, and I suddenly understood why so many patients had explained their stays with losing their lover in one form or another. But, of course, no one wanted nor needed to hear this, so I hid behind my lovely facade of control.

I went through the standard procedures, checking the measures on the EKG (electrocardiogram) and telemetry monitor, just making sure everything was in order. I was supposed to make small talk, to create some comfort in a typically frightening situation, so I asked the man how his day was. This was my first mistake, though I had no way of knowing at the time.

Obviously, he remarked, it could be better, or I wouldn’t be here.

A reasonable response, given the circumstances, so I chuckled and said that I supposed that was fair enough. I then informed him that the doctor would be seeing him shortly. As was mandatory.

And though it’s possible I misheard, I swear as I turned to leave he muttered that I was stuck up and a word that should not be said in front of small children. I closed the door slightly harder than strictly necessary, but assured myself that was the last I’d see of him.

I’m sure you have guessed I was wrong.

One of the doctors ran up to me while I was checking up on a kid in desperate need of varying immunity shots and told me there was a patient in near-critical condition, and that my services were required immediately. Normally I am not personally requested this urgently, as I didn’t have quite as much experience in this particular facility as some of the other nurses and doctors. It was frightening, since the condition of the patient had to be severe to want me there.

I raced down the pale winding hallways only to find the rude patient I had encountered earlier. I was still willing to let go of what had happened if he could prove he was worth my good graces. But just my luck, that was far from what happened.

All the other doctors had rushed out to get supplies to help him, telling me to keep an eye on him and make sure his condition was stable.

“I envy you.” The man said. I turned, shocked and confused. He then elaborated, extremely incorrectly, “you just have to sit there looking pretty and you get as much credit as the people who do actual work here.”

I don’t know what it was. Perhaps I had lost so much, and this job was the one thing keeping me together. And to hear such a pathetic waste degrade me was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

I’m unsure what happened. I couldn’t remember grabbing the syringe off of the desk, only wrenching it hard into his arm, feeling the needle stabbing into his flesh. Seeing the heartbeat monitor spiking ridiculously high before slipping into silence.

Another life lost that I might have prevented. Only this one was different. This time I couldn’t feel the remorse and guilt that normally ripped me in two. This time I didn’t care. Didn’t care that he might have had a family, a career, friends.

Dear diary,

I think I may be a horrible person.