Written September 2015.
July 2017 Update: She kicked that fucking bottle, has her first post-rehab job interview on Tuesday, and now I have come across this and I am tearing up like the skies above.
I know;
July 2017 Update: She kicked that fucking bottle, has her first post-rehab job interview on Tuesday, and now I have come across this and I am tearing up like the skies above.
I know;
- It is a disease
- You are trying but can’t substantially help it
- The demons pulling you in, have run down your family line for generations
- I am impotent. I could never rescue you.
- I will never stop trying to rescue you but I do it only for myself. I need to know that I am doing something however impotent.
- The selection for who gets to beat it, is as random as the choice of who it catches in the first place
- You very well might lose
- A big part of you hopes you lose and get done with it
- Aah... that sadly familiar simultaneous fear and desire for the end
- Everybody who has given up on you had to, or they would have drowned with you
- But you are a good person and are not one with your illness
- I love you as much as I loved your mother and my heart will be all broken again if, like her, you lose
- I will love you forever. Just for the sheer stubbornness of love. But also for all the priceless memories that come with a lifelong friendship in which, I have never needed to hold secrets
- I write this only for myself; to help the late night tears along because my tears, are the only thing I still have control over.
With impotence that I am all too aware of, I send my life force out to you, love. May the random chaos that is life,
pick you. May I get to tell you another of my raunchy secrets. Get
well. By randomness. By design. By science. Somehow, do.
