Well, here I am again. Sitting down with pen in hand, trying to make sense of it all. The days blur together now, each one a reminder of my own mortality. Tuberculosis - the silent killer they call it. It crept up on me like a shadow in the night, slowly but surely consuming me from within.
I tried to hide it at first, didn't want anyone to know how weak I had become. But eventually, there was no more denying the truth staring back at me in the mirror every morning. Dutch and the gang carried on as if nothing had changed, but I could feel their eyes on me - pity disguised as concern.
As my health declined rapidly, so did my faith in our way of life. All those years spent robbing and killing for what? A misguided sense of loyalty to a man who led us astray time and time again? The doubts grew louder with each passing day until they drowned out everything else.
John became like family to me during this time - a brother-in-arms who never once judged or questioned my decisions. He saw past the tough exterior I always wore and glimpsed the scared boy hiding underneath it all.
I've done things...things that haunt my dreams at night and weigh heavy on my soul during waking hours.But maybe...just maybe there's still hope for redemption before it's too late.I try to hold onto that thought like a lifeline amidst this storm raging inside me.
So here I sit,in this endless cycle of pain and regret,battling illness alongside inner demons that threaten to consume what little is left of Arthur Morgan.I can only pray for strength when weakness threatens to overtake,and hope that somehow,somewhere down this long road,I'll find peace amidst all this chaos.Sometimes,it's hard not lose sight,but through these trials perhaps true courage will be forged.And maybe then,I'll finally understand what it means: "For when I am weak…then…I am strong."