My dear boy, don’t you know? When I am doubled over in pain, eyes watering, puking, trying not to scream out of pure agony, that I am trying to think of questions to ask you. That between these waves of hopeless misery I am reaching for my phone to message them to you. Don’t you know that’s how I deal with it? When people ask me how I do it, month after month, day after day, toilet filled with the nutrients I involuntarily gave, I smile and say I don’t know, but in reality it’s you. Even when we didn’t speak it was you. You’re my strength and my weakness and I’m still trying to figure out who that’s possible.
Maybe I’m just afraid of my happily ever after.
Someone I love very dearly once gave me the piece of advice, as I was being rushed to the supposed emergency room, to, “be strong and be smart.” Of course, I was I mess at this time anyway and this made me cry. That phrase has stuck in my mind and won’t leave me be, long after the fact. My initial response was to be strong is to be smart, but as time has gone on I’ve become convinced that you can only be one or the other, but never both. Have you ever met a strong person who admitted to not being okay? Who admitted to needing help? How about a smart person who refused to be honest about their feelings? It’s been stupefying me. How in the world could I ever be both, even if it was for you..?