Steve's Diary

July 31, 1939

Dear Diary,

I really should relax, and I know I need it, but it's hard.

I'm now staying at my house in Brooklyn all alone because they wouldn't let me go back to boot camp... not like this. No mom, no Bucky, nobody. The silence is nearly unbearable.

It feels like I'm still me on the inside but it's almost like I'm stuck inside this bigger body. It's been nearly a week but I'm still not used to it. I put a glass of water down and accidentally smash it onto the counter. I pick something up and it's like it weighs nothing. I nearly broke one of the rickety white kitchen chairs just sitting on it.

They gave me a physical body exam and all the stuff going on in my daily life makes sense but it's still insane. For example, before, I was five foot four inches and barely ninety-five pounds. Now? I'm six foot two and pushing two-hundred-forty pounds.

They had me push my limits at the lab a few days after the whole chase down thing... I did the one-hundred yard dash in 9.38 seconds... as for bench press, they had to make a special machine just for me. I benched 2,000 pounds.

Aside from that, my vision and hearing are perfect... my heart arrhythmia, asthma and scoliosis are all gone, too. I feel like a completely different person. Nothing hurts or is sore or is impossible anymore, and I'm not quite sure how to act with myself.

It's like I don't even know myself anymore... I mean, I barely recognize my own reflection.

But, when I think like this and when I slip into that dark place where I feel so incredibly alone in this world, I always try to remember all the little pieces of advice my mom used to give me.

I remember, as a little kid, I used to get scared to sleep in my own room, especially in the dark. I wanted to sleep in her room with her, or at the very least in my own room with the door open and with the lights on. She'd tell me that I had to be a big boy.

That was her way of telling me to face my demons.

I was afraid of the monsters under my bed, I would tell her. She'd always tell me that there was nothing to worry about... not because there were no monsters under my bed, because there certainly were, according to her... but because they were there to protect me.

But, now... now that I look under my bed again, and now that I'm in this dark house all alone, I realize that they've all gone away. That, now, there are no monsters.

There's only me.

—————

Ugh, my mind always gets dragged into deep thoughts like that for no reason. I mean, I know I'm no monster (...right?), but I feel like I'm damn capable of becoming one.

What if Dr. Erskine was wrong? Then what happens? What if I'm simply incapable of staying a good person after everything... after all of this? Looking at what I did not even a week ago to that Hydra guy without even trying, I'm afraid that I'll really be a monster when I push myself to the farthest extent possible.

Oh my God, I need to stop. I need to stop thinking like this.

It's nearly midnight and I should get some shut-eye soon anyway, despite the demons whirling around in my head.

Okay, okay... relax, Steve. Think about something - or someone - else. That's it, I've got it.

I sat up in my bed and reached over to the dresser in attempts to find the picture of Bucky and I that I kept in the top drawer. I turned on the lamp, and there it was.