To my former lover...

I've been thinking about you a lot lately. I'd like to sit and chat so we can catch up with each other. But I know that isn't likely to happen. We are probably the only two people in the world who want the two of us being anywhere near each other. Not that I can blame the rest of the world for that.

I have to admit, I've been remembering mostly good things and very little of the bad. So much to miss, so much to regret.

Part of me wants you to see me like this - I have gained quite a bit of weight - because you were so taken with my beauty. I doubt I would get even a second glance from you now. The vain part of me wants you to remember me as the skinny woman I was, and hope to someday be again.

I am planning to look for a job soon and I can't help but want your fashion advice should I get as far as an interview. Getting someone to hire me will be a hard sell, so looking my best is pretty much a necessity.

The confidence you tried so hard to instill in me is completely gone. My husband believes in me, he just isn't very good at verbalizing it. You and I both know that my confidence is extremely high maintenance.

I still mourn the loss of our relationship - less and less as time moves on. I still cry sometimes - less often and not as hard. I lost more than "just" a relationship. I lost the hope and dreams of a lifestyle I'll never experience. I lost my escape.

I have a new normal now. The kind of normal I always expected from life - not what I wanted but making the best of it. I am loved and I am happy. But that doesn't mean I am never sad.

I saw you and your wife at a public event not that long ago. I ducked, hid, and told my husband to keep walking. I spent the rest of my time at that event watching for the two of you - constantly distracted and scanning the crowds as often as possible - because I can't possibly face both of you.

On one hand, I regret our relationship for so many reasons.
On the other hand, I can't possibly regret the relationship that kept me alive and taught me to live instead of just surviving.

I am feeling completely helpless and I desperately want the hope and selfishness you once breathed into my life.
But I can't have it.
I can't look for it.
I can't accept it if it's offered.
I shouldn't even want it.

You haunt me.

Scared

I am scared.

I hate to admit that.
I am supposed to be strong and independent and self sufficient.
In truth, I am none of those things.

I am scared because my family faces uncertainty.
We will most likely be homeless soon.
We have used up all of our lifelines and now we just have to wait for the official word to be handed down.
We have faced this before and I have had peace about it.

I am just short of panic.

I do not like where we live. But I like having a place to call home.

I am afraid that I will not have the energy needed to deal with homelessness.
My energy levels are unpredictable but I never have as much energy as a normal person. I cannot function like a normal person.
The fatigue and pain are debilitating. I cannot do the things I want. I can't even do the things I need.

I am afraid of the pain.
I spend much of my life trying to avoid pain and pretending I can be comfortable. I am in constant pain.
I am afraid of the intense pain that plays tricks on my mind, that takes control of my movements, that sends my body into shock. I am afraid of pain that pain relievers can't touch. I am afraid of pain that makes me less of a person. The pain that steals my identity and scrubs any enjoyment from life.

I have an adventurous spirit.
My body cannot handle adventure.

I am scared of failing.
Homelessness is already a form of failure. I am about to fail at failing.
There was a time when I could stay up late and get things done at the last minute. It seems that time is long gone. My body is failing me. I feel trapped. I think I wouldn't be scared if I knew I would be able to function. Instead, I'm pretty sure I won't function at all.

How am I supposed to explain to people that my body just doesn't work? No, I don't have any serious injuries. I don't have something as "accepted" as cancer (not that I wish I had cancer! Not at all!!). I have an invisible illness that won't go away. There are things that could help me in the short term, but in the long run I'm just going to get worse. That's how this thing works.

How do I explain to people that looking "fine" is completely draining? Yes, I can be fairly active for a day or two but I have to pay for it. Last week I was active for four days straight. And it just about killed me. I was living on Aleve (and still in pain) on the fourth day. My mind was slow and distant on the fourth day. On the fifth day, I could barely gather the strength to make myself ramen in the microwave. In fact, I almost didn't. I almost didn't eat on that fifth day because... it is like that drained, achey feeling that comes with the flu. I feel a version of that every day. It's usually somewhat mild - like when you've been sick and are getting better but still can't leave the house because getting dressed makes you need a nap - but that fifth day was like the height of the flu. I just wanted it to end. I wanted to feel better!

How do I explain to people that I always want fo feel better? I constantly feel sick and I constantly want to get better. The severity fluctuates but it's always there. I am never better. I very rarely feel up to going out and socializing. I am always squeaking by. The bare minimum, whatever it takes to get through the day.

Whatever it takes to survive.