What I do know, however, is that tomorrow, I want to drive somewhere, and be completely alone, just for a couple of hours. Time to breathe, to relax, to cry all the tears that I have left so that they cannot interrupt me at awkward times anymore. I won’t, but I’d like to.
I’ve had some pretty tough conversations with my friend today, and it’s the first time we’ve had such in-depth conversations for a while. She’s afraid of dragging me down, but what she doesn’t understand is that I’m prepared to be dragged down. For goodness sake, if this is what it takes, then I want to be dragged down. Today however, at the same time that the trust is something I appreciate, it’s a little exhausting.
Recently, at night, I lie in my bed and imagine, just for a second, that she’s here with me. That she’s telling me it’ll all be okay. I allow myself, just for a moment, to believe that it isn’t her that is sick. That it’s someone else who is battling this, and she’s just there by my side as my friend, helping me to breathe, and to hold it together for their sake. I can imagine she’s rubbing my back or holding my hand, and for a millisecond, I can just about feel safe. In reality, I know that I’ll probably never get another hug again. It’s too hard for her to battle the contact, I understand that. It hurts, but I can understand.
But then sleep drowns me and I pray that tonight will be good dreams. Sometimes, it is, but many times, sleep is when the stark reality hits me. Sleep should be a time of escape, but right now, it’s not. You can’t escape your dreams in the same way that you can escape reality, and when your dreams are telling the story of your woken reality, it’s even more difficult.
I just want to run up to someone, anyone, and shout that I’m scared. I’m genuinely afraid for both her and me. I’m afraid of where this is going to lead and although nobody else seems to see it now, those late night text message conversations are our reality. If they saw them, perhaps they’d start seeing the issue, too. Perhaps they wouldn’t write off my tears as those of an emotional teenager. I won’t show them though, I couldn’t.
I’ve got less than a week to make her listen. A week until she goes from having to at least pretend to acknowledge me to never having to listening to me again. It doesn’t matter how amazing a friendship is, distance will only make it easier for the ED side of her to rule her life. There will be nothing that I can do.
Now, as I brush my teeth, I gag. The waves of adrenaline-fuelled nausea are almost too much to handle.
It’s time to face the darkness yet again. It’s time to go to that place where she’s almost here with me. It’s time to try and sleep. It seems, however, that this time of day is the scariest of all. I know that my dreams are simply a continuation of the day, and there is nothing that I can do to change that.