Battle of Antietam

September 18, 1862

Yesterday was the worst it had ever been. I have never seen so many dead or wounded. Yesterday was the Battle of Antietam and a day that will forever haunt me. I wrote home to tell my parents that I was still fine, but I couldn't bring myself to describe to them the details - I'm still trying to recover.

Danny had lost his arm and John... his life. Everytime there's a loud crash or clatter I find myself jittery again and it takes me hours to calm back down. But James said it would help if I wrote everything down, "easier to face your problems that way," he says. So I am.

The day started off normal enough. We were marching against Lee's forces, and a few were nervous about the threat of battle. I was too until John convinced me everything would be fine. I should have listened to the nurses and stayed behind, my injuries were from a battle near Shiloh. But if I had stayed behind would that have made any difference? Wasn't fate something destined to occur? Or was John's death really my fault?

He always thought he had to protect me and he died protecting me. Dear God, I wish it was me. I feel selfish for wanting this pain to end, for not wanting to endure this pain any more. The battle replays in my mind even as I write this, I can still see the blood on my hands. Why won't this pain go away? My chest feels heavy, but also like someone had rammed a musket into my stomach.

All the blood! I feel nauseaus... I can't write any more tonight.