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Bucky doesn't like himself very much these days. Each day feels like a battle, each glance in the mirror feels like a punishment. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep fighting, how much longer he can live like this. It's terrifying. It's horrible.
Maybe the worst part of trauma isn't the trauma. Maybe the worst part is being forced to live with yourself after. Maybe the worst part is that the battle never really leaves your body.
Bucky doesn't know how to keep doing this. He wonders if it will ever get easier. He has no hope. None.