This whole week has been an exercise in frustration and contradictions. I don’t know what I am anymore, strong or weak, determined to live or completely hopeless, a victim or a survivor?

This past year, I have constantly struggled against physical weakness. I have worked hard to adapt to my disability, but I am reminded every day of what I have lost. I have felt it keenly in my work. In the past I could plan a job and execute it effectively. Since the shooting, I have been relegated to a life in front of a computer monitor, depending on others to risk their lives for my work. It goes way past having to use a wheelchair. Every facet of my life has been affected. That little scene in the bar on Friday night was just one more example to add to the book of Logan’s inadequacies.

I never expected to find myself in an even more vulnerable position two days later. How could a man in a wheelchair and a twelve-year-old child defend themselves against four men that were prepared to commit murder? There was no way for us to escape. There wasn’t even a way to call for help. There was just the two of us with a very sick Max to take care of. We had no choice but to stay and fight. Despite all our preparations, I doubted that we would win. I could hear it in my voice when B.C. and his crew returned. "Leave now, or you will meet with forceful resistance." I didn’t really believe those words when I said them. No wonder they laughed at me. They didn’t believe me either. But somehow I found the strength inside me to do whatever it took to beat them. Even with my disability, I was stronger than B.C.. I was stronger than all of them. I learned that I had stores of strength that I never believed existed.

Now all that strength seems to have disappeared once again. I feel weaker than ever. I should not have expected to escape that fight unscathed. We got out of there with our lives, so I should be grateful for that. I should be able to live with some injuries for a few days. It should not be that difficult. Yet, I’m finding it almost impossible to reconcile what I was able to do on Sunday with how I feel now. How can I be both weak and strong? How can I fight so hard for my life one day only to have feelings of worthlessness return the next?

I have done everything in my power to keep myself together, things I never thought I would do. It began Tuesday morning when Bling was heading out to the farmers’ market. It was shaping up to become another long day of clock watching, which was exactly what I was trying to avoid. Just go with him, the survivor inside me prompted.

"Wait!" I called to him, surprising myself.

I followed Bling to the car then let him help me into the passenger’s seat. I was so desperate at that point that even the prospect of sitting in the car while he shopped seemed more appealing than staying at home all day. When we arrived at the market, though, Bling pulled out the chair and for some reason I allowed him to help me into it. I pushed myself into the market, but my strength lasted only as a far as the first vendor’s stall. I expected Bling to help me back into the car, but instead he placed the grocery bags in my lap and proceeded to push me through the rest of the market. And I let him. I let him on Tuesday and yesterday and even this morning. I can’t believe that I have been willing to do that.

When we returned from the market, I did an equally incomprehensible thing. I picked up the phone and called Jack. The phone felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in my hand. I was that reluctant to rehash all this stuff again. Wasn’t once in a lifetime enough? But the survivor inside me insisted that I do it. Jack reminded me that I couldn’t fix everything in two weeks. We spent a couple hours talking through some of it, and we have talked every day since then. We haven’t found any instant solutions, but at least I have one more voice telling me that I can get through this.

My head is clearer now, so I’ve even managed to do some work today. I have an informant who claims to know who was behind the heist of the nuclear warheads from Marsh Airforce Base. I encouraged him to provide me with the data disks and encryption algorithms for his organization. Hopefully with that information, we will be able to intercept the warheads before they are shipped out of the country.

And of course, I’ve had Max over for breakfast and dinner every day. Her presence is definitely a comfort. Sometimes when I am with Max, I think that things will be fine, but then she leaves and the blackness returns. I’ve tried so hard to fight it this time. I’ve struggled to fill my days with purposeful activities. I’ve surrounded myself with people to talk to and things to do, but despite everything, the blackness has continued to creep up on me. I’m barely keeping a step ahead of it. I’m not sure what has brought this on, sleep deprivation, exhaustion, lack of mobility. I know Bling’s advice is sound. You don’t keep working with an injury. It’s just asking for long term consequences. But the immobility has only made me feel worse, like an invalid who can’t do anything for himself. And that is exactly how it has been. Bling lifts me into bed and out of bed, onto the sofa and off the sofa. The worst thing is that I am so sore and exhausted that I don’t even have the strength to protest. I know I can’t do it by myself. I tell myself that this is only for a few days, that I’ll have my strength back soon, but I still hate these feelings of weakness.

I find myself drawn to the window, just wanting to stare out at the city as the seconds tick by on the clock. I’ve already spent too many sleepless nights doing just that. When I do catch a few minutes of sleep, I have recurrent dreams of ambushes and shootings and shame. I keep reliving the embarrassment of being knocked out of my chair by B.C. and his friends and the shock of killing them later.

I’m not the useless victim in that bar. B.C. and company may have knocked me flat on my back, but in the end I was stronger than them. Against all odds, the guy in the wheelchair overcame adversity and prevailed. I won, didn’t I? I got my revenge. I should be happy. But I’m not happy. Killing those men has not been gratifying at all. It was necessary to ensure Max and Sage’s survival. I tell myself that I did the right thing. Sometimes you don’t have a choice. Even Max told me that. It had to be the right thing. I know I would do it again in the same circumstances, but I still can’t get that night out of my mind. Those images have been haunting me all week. I blew up a man and I shot another in the chest. I kept trying to give them a chance, but they wouldn't let me. They wouldn't back down. They wouldn't stop. They just kept shooting. They weren’t going to stop until they killed me. So I killed them.

A day earlier, I couldn’t comprehend it when Herman described firemen having their throats sliced open by piano wire. How could people do that to each other? I could never do anything like that. But the moment I was threatened, I strung up some fishing line of my own. And when the opportunity presented itself, I drew a man to it. I had already learned that there was no room to hesitate. He slit his throat, as I knew he would. I remember his blood dripping from the fishing line. Oh God! I did that. I rigged that line to get that exact result.

Then I shot off B.C.’s kneecap. I would have killed him if I could have. I had no qualms about shooting him in the back. I wasn’t able to do that, but at least I brought him down to the floor and onto a level playing field with me. He was on top of me with a knife in his hand, but I was focused and confident. It was easy for me to overpower him and shove his own knife into him. I felt that knife cutting through him, but that wasn’t enough. I kept pushing and twisting and forcing it in further. I wanted him dead. All my ideals had vanished. There was no room for kindness. There was just brutality and survival. It was kill first or be killed. I never quite understood what I was capable of, but now I know and it scares me to the core. I am afraid that I am just like those protestors and the police officers that killed them. In the end, I will do anything to survive. In the end, it is the only principle that I have, and that scares me more than anything.