Some days are better than others. In your heart you know that things are going ok. Not great, not necessarily good, but ok. Considering all that's happened, ok is a blessing, and you're thankful for it. But sometimes a random memory will pop into your head and it makes you sad. Just a little. You become so overwhelmed with the need to talk to her that you pick up your phone and start to text. Luckily, you stop yourself before you do anything rash and unwanted.
You start thinking about how the threads of a relationship can fray, tear, and over time you can't even tell where the seam once was. You question how many times a bridge can be burned and rebuilt before you run out of tools and strength to fix it one final time.
You think about all the girls you have loved, and the ones you only thought you did. You like to believe you took lessons from all of them that help you become a better person. You hope that they are doing ok, and that they look back on the time spent with you with more fond memories than regrets. You wonder if any of them wished things worked out between you. Especially the last one.
You wish you could talk to someone about all of this, but when you tell people how you think and feel, they look at you in that way you hate. You used to think that it was an expression of concern, but now you realize it's more out of fear. They've seen what happens when you let yourself go, and they can't go through that again. No pressure, right? Still, this leads to other memories.
When you got to the hospital, they took your shoelaces and belt as a precaution. So, you walk funny because everything is falling off. Your mom shakes as you answer questions, gives you a hug, and then you're all alone. You're 22, but you feel like a small child. In your wing people scream and wander around aimlessly. In bed you cover your head with a thin pillow trying in vain to block out the noises, all while praying to god that the sleeping pills kick in soon.
Three times a day they march you to the kitchen and feed you what they pass off as food. You choke it down and wonder how much it's costing you. There's nothing to do but smoke and talk, so you add a fresh layer of cancer to your lungs and exhaust all your stories. Your mom visits you with worry etched on her face, and tears in her eyes. When your dad comes to see you, he acts uncomfortable and just makes fun of the patients, not realizing that you're part of that freakshow.
During one group sessiong they play music that wouldn't get anyone too excited. You get to hear Blue October, which is a treasure. The counselor tells you to draw a picture of your family, and you do so without really thinking. She points out that you have excluded yourself in your pic. She points out that this says a lot about your personality, and what you think about yourself. Group ends before she can elaborate.
Eventually, you make enough progress to be released with new prescriptions and well wishes.
Once you are back in the real world, you become worse than before.
It takes months but you slowly, painfully crawl your way out of hell. You don't make it out unscathed, but you did make it out. That's what matters. For the first time in over a year, the sun hits your face. It warms you from the inside out. Moments like this are so rare in life that you want to enjoy it before it fades.
You make yourself a promise that you will never go through this again. You will never put up with what you have from people in the past. And you won't forget the most important thing you have learned so far...what it feels like to be alive. And, just like that, the melancholy feeling that started this whole train of thought has all but vanished.
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