Letting Go, and Allowing her to Protect Herself

It’s tough to go without contact, and there’s many reasons for that. Over the last six months or so, my trust has grown however, and it’s much easier now than it ever was before. It’s okay, she’s not like the others, and my best friend won’t abandon me. It doesn’t matter if we have a few weeks of silence, to allow her to concentrate, she’ll still be here for me, to hug me at christmas. Until then, I’ll just rock myself to sleep, shhh my own tears, and worry on my own. It’s only two weeks, I’m strong, and I can do that. I’m ready for it, and I’m feeling more determined than ever.

Whilst I can’t promise to say nothing for the next few weeks, I can sure slow down. And you know what I’m going to focus on? That when we meet up back at home, it’ll be even more special, they’ll be even more love, and we’ll truly have lots to talk about.

There’s only niggling feeling that holds me back, and it’s the ghosts of the last few months. Food, eating disorders, pain, worry, lies, and heartache. I saw a picture today of someone on Facebook. It’s been merely months since I last saw her, and though I didn’t know her well, I didn’t even recognise her in the photo. She looks old, her face looks gaunt, and she’s clearly lost a lot of weight since moving away. Someone who I used to go to school with, and see on a regular basis, a completely different person.

That could easily be my best friend. She could quite easily not eat another thing, and exercise for three hours a day for the next few weeks, and I’d be none the wiser. She could end up in A&E having collapsed, or even from self harm, and she’s so far away that she could probably lie it all away. I’d like to think that it wouldn’t happen. I’d like to think that she values her med school exams more than that, and I’d like to think that by this point, she trusts me and values me enough not to lie. I’d like to think that she’d read those envelopes before it got that bad, and she’d ask me for help.

But it’s scary. Nobody is perfect, and the prospect is still very real. That’s why I’m scared to let go. In the past, it may have been about me, but it’s just not that anymore. I truly care about her. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. She’s like a big sister to me, and I wouldn’t cope if I knew she was lying, and I certainly wouldn’t cope if she wasn’t in this world anymore. I love her, she’s beautiful in every way, and the back of my mind is a little afraid to let go, because it means that I can’t protect her anymore. I have to trust her to protect herself.


She’s Driving Me Insane

I feel really awful that it’s come to the point where I’ve got to write this, but I feel as though I’m left with no choice. I’m really struggling to find any way at all to reach the same level as or connect with one of my flat mates. I don’t know anyone well enough to share this view, and next year, I’ve got to live with the girl. She’s driving me crazy, and I’m not sure how much longer I can go without hitting her (and no, I’m not a violent person. At all. Ever.)

I’ve just been into the kitchen to cook my dinner, but she’s in there washing up, and I’m at the point now where instead of cooking and tolerating her for fifteen minutes, I simply turned around and walked straight back out. While Im the first to admit that I may not be the most social of creatures, I’m usually pretty good at getting on with, or at least tolerating the people that I meet and spend time with.

I can’t even put my finger on exactly what it is about her that gets me, it’s a combination of things. Initially, in the first few days, it was that she would mid conversation run to her room, sob extremely loudly, and then come back out ten minutes later with red puffy eyes and tears still trickling down her face, claiming she was ‘fine’. My opinion: attention. Okay okay, I know maybe you think I’m jumping to conclusions, but seriously, you didn’t see it. Or hear it. Surely if you’ve just met a group of people, even if you’re sad, you make every effort to keep it to yourself? I don’t let people see me cry if I can help it, only my very very closest friends. Other people do, but this was just a whole new level.

It makes me angry that she has no real opinions and agrees with everything everyone says. ‘Oh yes, the kitchen being such a mess annoys me so much, it’s not hard to clear up after yourself.’ Oh really, so why is it that 90% of the mess belongs to YOU!? And no matter what she’s said, about any topic, if you oppose her view, she agrees with you, instantly. My opinion: trying too hard.

There’s a tone to her voice that I just don’t like. A whiny tone. And yes, that’s probably very judgemental and I should say it, but it’s how I feel.

If you’re out with someone else, don’t put on the group message that you miss us lot, and when nobody responds to you, put it on another five or six times.

And the last bit, if I’m trying to work, or even if I’m not trying to work, please don’t knock on my door for attention. I don’t care. I don’t want to hear you say ‘Oh look, it’s nine pm and I’ve got to go the library to finish an essay, I’m such a god student!’ Firstly, it’s lies. Secondly, I don’t care. Thirdly, stop attention seeking.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry I feel this way, but it’s just how I feel. I don’t like it when I dislike someone, because I think everyone is special in their own way, but this is just one person who I can’t deal with. Perhaps she just feels a bit fake, but either way, I don’t like it. I really really don’t want to live with her next year, and I can’t imagine how bad she’ll be in exams. But we’ll take it each day at a time, and pray that it gets better.

How I’m Feeling

Whilst I might have been lured into a false sense of security by about midday that my pain had resided, and I was allowed a few hours to work, it’s now back, and with full force.

I can’t hold back the tears anymore. My pillow is soaked, and I still haven’t told anyone that I feel bad. I know that I should eat, and I’ve taken my iron, but the smell of the others cooking is nauseating, and no matter how many times I try to stand, I just cannot walk to my door. I don’t want to have dinner, I really don’t.

I’m exhausted, and in so much pain, I can’t remember the last time anything hurt me physically, or at least not to this extent. I wish that there was someone I could talk to, about anything. I wish there was someone out there to call and check that I’m okay.

I’m really worried, because it hurts so much. I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight if it continues, and that’s just going to emotionally drain me even more. I won’t concentrate tomorrow, and I’ll cry until my eyes sting, with nobody around to fix it.

My thoughts are jumbled, as you may have noticed. My only coherent thoughts really are that my body burns, and I feel like I could be sick at any moment.

Go away pain. I don’t get ill, and I don’t want to start now. I’m already demoralised, I don’t need illness to come and make it worse.


After telling myself last night that I would have a lie in this morning, I woke up at seven with a stomach ache. Determined not to get up at such an ungodly hour on a weekend, I sat in bed with a bowl of granola, and watched a documentary.

It’s now 10.30am, and over the last hour or so, my stomach pain has gotten worse. Until now, I’ve been just about able to stagger to the toilet, but I’m not sure I could manage that now. The physical pain is excruciating, like someone is repeatedly stabbing me in my chest and stomach, and now I can barely move. I’m confined to my bed, curled in the foetal position, and fighting back tears. I don’t cry from physical pain, and I don’t intend to start right now. Standing makes me dizzy, and I have an overwhelming urge to be sick. It’s almost like I’m loosing feeling in my feet, but I’m telling myself that that’s impossible, I’m fine.

I don’t know what to do.

I can’t afford this today, I need to start revising, and catch up on the mountains of assignments. I need to have a productive weekend. Right now though, the pain is unbareable, and there’s no way I can sit at my desk. I don’t want to burden anyone, and I don’t know anyone well enough here to tell them, but I’m beginning to worry that this may be a little more than ‘just a stomach ache’.

Go away pain, let me sleep, let me work, let me do something. Please, I’m begging you.

Without Goodbye

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep… Beep…. Beep….. Beep…….. Beep……….. Beep………….. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

‘She’s gone. No, it can’t be. It can’t be true. It’s not true. Please tell me it’s not true.’ I could see that her brain was in overdrive, desperately trying to escape the drone of the beep. Of the final beep.

“Please don’t be gone!” she shouted. “Come back, I can’t do this without you!” The girl ran over to the bed. ‘It’s not true, it’s not true’ her brain cried. “You didn’t say goodbye, you promised you’d never leave. And you definitely promised that you’d never leave without goodbye.”

The young girl, now dropped to her knees by the hospital bed, was crying. Her breathing rate was increasing, and she suddenly felt that she couldn’t move, paralysed by the emotional shock. A nurse entered the room, looked at the body lying on the bed, and tried to lift the young girl out and into the corridor, but the girl screamed, lying on the floor and waving her fists. “Don’t take her away,” she wailed, “How could you do this to me?” BANG. She smashed her hand on the ground one last time, before lying, defeated, in the middle of the hospital floor, sobbing, but otherwise motionless. The whimpers echoed in the room, and I felt her heartbeat slow. As though sensing me, she touched her chest, and tears slipped down her face. The girl realised that she’d never feel the heartbeat of her friend again. She’d never feel the warmth of a hug, and hear that comforting repetitive sound that came with it.

For the days that followed, the girl locked herself into her university bedroom, and sat, motionless on the bed. She didn’t talk to anybody, and for four nights, she didn’t sleep. Whilst she tried to manage the odd biscuit, she’d usually vomit within half an hour. She couldn’t face a proper meal, and I watched her, for the whole time. I could see that she only tried to eat for her friend. She knew that her dead friend would be angry with her coping mechanism, but I gave her no choice.

The day of the funeral came, and the girl didn’t know what to do. With only eight hours sleep in seven days, she couldn’t compute a sensible suggestion. All the while, I watched the girl from the corner of the room, hiding in the shadows. That morning, she attempted on three separate occasions to eat a slice of toast, but she was sick seven times. Every time she moved, she feared that she would faint, but somehow, she made it into the shower. The water caused a panic attack, as thoughts of what had happened and what would happen that day attempted to drown her. Still, I watched, and I waited.

She dressed in black, as was the requirement. She tied a blue and a purple ribbon onto the bottom of her long plait, and crying her makeup away, she walked out of the door.

The girl remembered, with a little help from me of course, that usually, people took flowers to a funeral. Panicking once more, she tried to hide her pain and search for the nearest flower shop. What she found instead was a little gift shop, hidden at the back of an alleyway. In the window, she noticed a glass heart, swirled blue, lilac, and pink. She went inside to buy the item, along with a cards that said ‘I love you to the moon and back’, and ‘A true friend sees the first tear, catches the second, and stops the third.’ Running, as she was now late, she climbed on a bus to the funeral. On the back of the cards she wrote,
‘I love you, you’re an amazing little super star. My heart won’t last long without my big sister beside my side. Always and forever, I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it. I’ll miss you honey.’

She was alone. She hadn’t realised it until now, but upon entering the church for the funeral, she realised that she was alone. She was surprised that she was able to hold off the years long enough to place the heart on her bet friend’s chest, and the cards next to the coffin. She sat, quietly at the back, disappearing into her seat, and dissolving into tears. Nobody sat beside her.

Of course, I didn’t allow her to remember explicit details of the funeral, and for a while, I don’t think that she paid much attention. What caught the attention of the young girl was when the question was put out as to if anyone else had anything that they’d like to say. She wasn’t sure why, but the girl wiped her eyes, and walked to the front.

“Hello, I’m sorry that I didn’t prepare this beforehand, I didn’t know that this would be an opportunity, and I’ve also never been much of one to talk, even if I had known. However, there’s a few things today that I think I’d like to say, so please bare with me. One week ago, we lost a very special person from this earth, and I lost my best friend. She was a beautiful, strong willed, and caring person. I may have only known her for four years, but she’s changed me, and made me into who I am today. She’s picked me up when I’m sad, and she’s held me when I thought that there was nothing left. She’s smiled with me too, and she’s laughed. We’ve had fun, we’ve leant on each other, and we loved each other, unconditionally. It’s sad that we had to loose such an amazing person. It’s sad that she let this consume her so much, that she lost touch with the world, and died so tragically. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, in fact, I didn’t get to say goodbye at all, and I’m sure that many of you didn’t either. But she wouldn’t have wanted us to sit and mope. She would have wanted us to support one another in our journey of growth, to move on, and to continue with our lives. That will be hard, but my best friend will always be loved, especially by me. She wouldn’t have wanted us to forget, and I’ll never forget. Without her, the prospect of survival seems impossible. She made a promise to be here always and forever, but now they’ll be no more smile to light up my days, and I’ll miss her. It’s like I’ve lost a sister, and it’s heartbreaking, but I know that tonight, when I look at the sky, I’ll spot the brightest star in the sky, and I’ll know that she would have wanted me to be happy. It’ll be hard, and there will be lots to fight. Without her by my side, mountains will be taller, and paths longer, but I urge you to look for a star, and I urge you all to remember her as the beautiful and clever girl that she was, not the demons that we saw take the real her away in her last few days.”

I didn’t tell the girl to talk, and I’m not sure why she did, but it ruined my plan for her. I couldn’t take her now, and I did not see the girl again for many years. She lived a life of heartache, and pain, but she survived on the knowledge that her best friend would have been angry if she had died for her. At the age of sixty, however, things got too much for the girl. I took her to join her best friend on the 40th anniversary of her friend’s death. That day, I made the memory of the hospital just a little bit strong, and the girl surrendered to me. The heartache and pain that she’d hidden from everyone for so long was just too much. Whilst she may have looked like she’d coped with the death of her friend, the wounds were getting deeper by the day. She couldn’t last forever, and soon, it was my turn to take her, too.

I’m very lucky to be able to say that this is a story, but it’s a story based on a very true fear. I don’t tell tales much, but this time, I simply had to share. Read, contemplate, and reflect.

What if it were fourteen years?

Take a moment. Sit in silence, count down from ten, and think about the person who you care and worry about the most. Think about the person who you can always rely on. Think about the good times, think about the laughter. Now think about the tears and the pain. Ask yourself if you’d change it. I know I wouldn’t.

The people who I’ve met since coming to university have known their best friends for much longer than I’ve known mine. With middle schools having no existence in most places, people have usually known their best friends since they were aged eleven, or four. I can’t help but imagine what things would have been like if that were the case for me. What if my best friend and I had met fourteen years ago, instead of four?

For at least a year, my flute teacher has called my best friend ‘auntie X’, and it makes us both laugh, because it’s so true. She’s also made the comment that the two of us prop each other up, and even though people usually don’t see both sides, we’d both struggle without the other one. That’s why, in recent years, my opinion has changed a little. I no longer think of her as my ‘auntie’, or even my ‘best friend’. To me, she’s my big sister. She’s always here for me, to protect me, and to listen. She’s happy to guide me and help me, and she’s a million times more patient than any normal friendship would allow. I know that she thinks of me as her little sister, too, and whilst I’d never tell her, I love that. I love that someone cares about me unconditionally, and that she’s always there too turn to, no matter what. It doesn’t matter if she’s revising, if she gets a message from me that says ‘I miss you, I’m really sad today’, she’ll fix me again, and reassure me that it’s not long until we see each other again. It only takes minutes, and she has an ability to make me happy and fuzzy that nobody else has mastered, and I doubt that they ever will. All at the same time though, I mother her, too. In some ways, I know more about her than her own mother does, and I feel responsible for her health and welfare, too. It’s her job to make sure that her little sister finds her way in the world, and is my job to make sure that my big sister will always be here to guide me and to keep me safe.

The point that I’m trying to make, I guess, is that is doesn’t matter that it has only been four years, and to me, that will never matter. She’s the only person who would offer to take me for a drive after a bad exam, she held my hand when we went to talk to my head of house about me not coping, and she’s the only person who I would top and tail with in a single bed and not worry that the suggestion would seem ‘strange’. I’m sure by the third night of her stay here, I’ll probably be curled up on the wooden floor with my dressing gown, but that’s another story entirely!

Of course, I mustn’t paint the perfect picture. Not only have we both had demons to fight and battles to help each other through, we also fight and argue, just like siblings. It’s never serious and it never lasts for too long, but it does hurt when it happens. I always tell myself though, it only makes us closer, and our friendship stronger. We haven’t fought for a while.

I’ve concluded that actually, fourteen years wouldn’t have been better than the four we’ve had. Maybe we’d have smiled more as kids than we’ve managed in the past four years, but I also have a gut feeling that our relationship would be completely different. It wouldn’t be like this, and I’m not sure how I’d cope without ‘this’ in my life. It keeps me sane and healthy, and every moment we spend together is beautiful, no matter what the reason is. We always share, tears and laughter. Sometimes, it’s like we’re almost one. We were made for each other. We don’t choose our family, but this was the family member I did get to choose, and for that, I am forever grateful. In ten years time, it’ll have been fourteen years, and that’s just how I want it. I simply cannot imagine it any other way.


Warm, tight, secure, loved, fearless, and most importantly, safe. Grief, pain, hope, and love can all be shared through a simple embrace. It’s special because it’s a closeness that is reserved only for those who mean the most. A hug can save a life, and I’d go as far as to say that it has saved mine.

After years of never having a proper hug or a safety blanket, someone popped into my life several years ago who changed everything. She taught me the importance of a hug, and it changed me. She taught me that it’s okay to trust, to be loved, and to be safe. Talking is healthy and sharing pain is essential. A hug and a listening ear is often all it takes to improve your mood. It’s a simple reminder that you’re not alone, and it can change a person’s outlook in a second.

Sadly, I became very reliant upon that feeling of safety, and I pushed all my thoughts and feelings into her arms so that she and her hugs could help me cope. It was a spiral, and whilst it helped, it hurt to say goodbye. Not only that, but it ruined both of our chances at exams and revision, and I can never forgive myself that the mess I allowed myself to make for her at both AS and A2. I destroyed her chances, because I relied on her help, and her hugs. It nearly killed our friendship, and for that I’ll never forgive myself.

It was hard tonight to look at the face of my best friend on a screen. I’ve not been wrapped up in her arms for twelve weeks, and I miss her. When I feel a wave of sadness, I can fight it, but I can’t when I look at her face. I know that she would not appreciate my current silence. I know that if she knew exactly how awful I was really feeling right now, she wouldn’t allow me to go it alone. She’d talk to me, she’d hug me, and she’d be disappointed in me for not talking before now. I know she’s aware, but I’m hiding the real pain. She’s probably angry already, she’ll know I’m hiding something. I told her I need to honest. But she must concentrate and pass her exams, and so she must think that I’m settled and well. It’s guilt that I feel, but sadly, it’s how it has to be.

I’m teaching myself to be the girl that I was before. I’ve remembered how to suffer in silence, and I’ve remembered how to lie and smile. Sometimes, I can even lie to myself, and believe that I am happy. I’m getting good at it, I can manage for several days now. It’s something I have to do in order to not cause the same pain that hugs and a need to be loved caused before. I shouldn’t need to feel like there’s someone looking after me, and to help me, 24/7, and so I’m determined that I will simply ignore those feelings and cope with the demons alone.

But it’s a dangerous path that I am taking. It’s a path that will slowly lead to destruction, because I know that I cannot hold the silence forever. It’s not about a coping mechanism, it’s all about lies. Those lies may keep me safe, but they’re also hurting me. Each time I move I remember that my bubble of lies is slowly suffocating me. My breathing increase but my breaths are more shallow. There’s no oxygen, and if someone doesn’t come and burst the bubble soon, I fear I will collapse.

This video was shared in a post by side by side a few days ago. If you haven’t seen it already, you should go and watch it. It’s helped me not only to understand my response to stress and pain, but to also think about how I can better deal with my emotions, and how caring for others can actually help me to cope. It’s important to remember that I’m not alone, and that care and trust has to be mutual.

I’m always safe, because my best friend is always here for me. And in three weeks, I’ll get the hug that I’m so badly craving. It’s only three weeks, you have to do this. You can’t collapse before then.

It’s still a dilemma though. I want our reunion to be happy, but right now, I might just enter that hug and dissolve into tears. I need to talk, I wish there were no exams. I wish I didn’t have to hide. I’m afraid, and I wish that I could tell her why.

Fight, Flight, or Freeze

Most people will have heard of the fight or flight response. The scientists among you will probably know that the sympathetic nervous system is stimulated. Even if you’re not a scientist, you’ll know the story. Man attacked by lion, man chooses to either attempt to fight the lion, or run. Of course, this can be seen in the modern day through other types of stress. Whilst we aren’t usually attacked by lions, you’ll probably know the feeling when you’ve got to go to an interview, give a presentation, sit an exam, or play a musical solo. Your heart rate increases, your palms feel sweaty, your mouth gets dry, your breathing gets faster, and you get a feeling of ‘butterflies’ in your stomach. That’s your body perceiving that interviewer or audience as a lion, and so it’s getting ready to fight or flight.

In extreme times of stress, for example if you’re attacked by a bear and you know you won’t live, you might go into what is called freeze mode. In humans, this can happen in car accidents, or to victims of rape. They find that they cannot move, and they often pass out, or mentally remove themselves from the situation. They can’t feel any pain, and they can have no memory of the situation afterwards.

The strange thing about me though, is that I seem to slip into freeze mode a lot more easily than normal. It’s almost as though I’m permanently in a state of flight or fight, and constantly have elevated stress levels, and so when something upsets me or I get nervous, my body responds by freezing. I suddenly feel stuck to the spot, and whilst I’m sure I’m aware of what is happening when it is happening, I find it difficult to recall what happened and how it felt when I relax. It seems alien to everyone around me, but it’s normal for me. I don’t expect to remember my flute solo or what answers I wrote in the exam. That’s just how things are for me.

It’s scary, that every single stress seems like a grizzly bear. It’s like I don’t ever feel hope, and I think that this will be the problem that destroys me. Even if I think I’m feeling positive, I don’t, really. I can’t physically ‘do’ positive in the way that other people can. It’s just not something that comes to me naturally, and I couldn’t tell you what my colour and pattern was for positive, because I haven’t figured it out yet.

Colouring Pencils

I need to buy some colouring pencils, so I can draw. It’s nights like tonight, when I stare at a new blank blog post screen, and try to work out what to write that I need them. It’s nights like tonight when I don’t need to write, I need to draw. I need to figure out how I’m feeling, because to be honest, I’m not all that sure. I can’t figure it out with words, because as I’ve said many times before, words don’t come naturally to me. Emotions are images, shapes, and colours.

I don’t have any colouring pencils, so I probably won’t figure it out. I’ll go to bed yet again feeling uneasy and unsure of myself. I won’t know what to think about, and I’m not quite sure if I should laugh or cry. I just know there’s a weird sick feeling in my stomach, but if that’s because I’m ill, I’m excited, I’m stressed, I’m sad, or I’m nervous, I’ve no idea.

Sometimes it’s difficult to be like this. It’s something I’ve grown to accept, but I’m not sure how I should react. When I’m like this, I don’t even know how to react to the situations around me. Until I’ve drawn, I don’t understand how I’m feeling, and so I can’t be social, and I can’t react appropriately to everyday situations. It’s strange, I’ll admit. But I can’t draw, I don’t have any colouring pencils.

My bank account is in negative figures, and so I cannot afford to buy any. I have pens, but they’re not the same. I can’t explore my feelings properly, and often, I feel more lost than I did before I got the paper out. It’s like writing really. All I do is confuse, except with blogging, I confuse you lot as well as myself!

There’s two things that fix this, but neither is possible. First, I draw, but of course, I’m pencil-less. Second, I talk, but with no idea whatsoever of what this really is, and the only person who I trust being extremely busy revising, that’s not a sensible option, either.

So instead, I decide the only option is to decide to sleep. However, just as it has tonight, that simply results in me waking several times feeling progressively more sick until I don’t know what to do. It’s been over a week since I last cried (yes, I’m counting) and I’m trying to learn not to cry for everything, but I know that soon I’ll be crying again. Tonight, I just feel too sick to want to carry on. And it’s all because of those stupid colouring pencils. Or lack of them, at least.


I’m often restless. When I’m stressed, I can’t sit still and work. I either want to curl up in bed and cry, or run as far away as is physically possible. When I’m waiting for someone to contact me, it’s worse. If I see that they’ve read my message and moved on I can get jumpy, and every theory under the sun will pass through my head. I’ll blame myself, and my bad mood will get progressively worse. And worse. And worse.

For the past week, I’ve been on the pill levest. No, it’s not helping. If anything, it has made the last week much, much worse. I’ve lost all motivation to do anything, and whilst he warned me it might make my mood worse, what he didn’t warn me was that I’d be lacking energy, enthusiasm, and drive. He didn’t tell me that I’d cry for seemingly no reason. And waiting? My lord, waiting is like an impossible task. I’m hoping things will improve once my body gets used to it, but for now, it’s hellish.

Right now, I’m waiting, and I’m frankly an emotional wreck. I’ve given up on work this afternoon, as I wait for my best friend to contact me and tell me she’s okay. Yet again, she ended up in A&E, but this time, I’m not entirely sure why. What I do know is that she’s going under general anaesthetic for a tendon reconstruction in her hand. I also know that it’s blown my emotions off the scale. It’s completely crazy! I’ve been under anaesthetic and I know it’s nothing to worry about really, but I’m curled up in bed, unable to lie still, staring at the ceiling, and waiting for her to explain what happened, and to tell me that she survived and she’s okay. Until then, I don’t think I’ll move. At this rate, I won’t even make it to my 5 o clock lecture.

I’m always restless, but this is crazy. The worst bit is, I know it’s crazy, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

So, I guess I must wait.