All I ask…

There’s this thing you do.

2 years ago, it was just after Christmas and then again a few days ago.

You write to me.

These messages have taught me that the seven stages of grief are reoccurring. You get through one cycle and you think it’s over. But a few months down the line, I am here again.

I get sad, because you shouldn’t be writing to me when you could just talk to me. I get angry because you looked me in the eyes and told me you were choosing her, you made that decision and you shouldn’t have the option to “think fondly” of me anymore. And then I bargain: “just reply, just this once. It was a sincere message and it will be nice to catch up” And finally acceptance. You don’t have to respond to my messages anymore.

I need you to stop writing.

Please don’t write, because if you ask me how I am,I will have to tell you that I am falling apart at the seams.

Please don’t write, because if you ask me how things are going, I will tell you that I don’t know.  Oath to God, I don’t know.

Please don’t write, because if you ask me what’s changed.There will be little to say. Despite my hardest efforts, I am still that very same girl that loved you without recourse, and I am still reeling from it.

It’s been three years, but I still can’t tell you why I feel sadness the same way people feel love: Privately, intensely and without recourse. I am afraid that if you write, my response will only remind you of  watching me fall apart and that you will be justified in having picked someone else.

If you write, I will have to remember: lying on the floor during your rehearsals, being interrogated about the last time I ate something, the night of your final recital,  my 21st Birthday and and and…

And I don’t want to remember to anymore. There is no reason too.

I don’t know when we will get the time to be just friends. But it can’t be now, I’m still trying to fight my own demons, I’m trying to be okay. But I am still a long way off.  Today, I am far from getting it right. When June rolls around the show goes on. Same couch, different pill and that means that I need to dig up a lot  more fight.

I don’t know where this fight is going to come from, because I am so tired. So tired. And I can’t imagine that God can make my shoulders any broader.

So if it’s not too much to ask, let me figure out how I am going to get through this. Without the burden of remembering that this ongoing fight, is the very reason we could not be together.

And if ever you find yourself thinking fondly of me, just remember that not much has changed. I’m still at it. I may be running a little low on fight, but I’m going to find it and when I come out of this, we will find the time to be just friends. But until then, just let me fight it out.

When you write,there is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.