TSO texted me out of nowhere this afternoon, asking about my schedule next week and wanting to catch up. This kind of threw me off but it was intriguing enough, I decided to accept. We texted back and forth a little bit until he said he’d hit me up sometime next week. Jeremy also butt dialed me later in the evening. Two for two.
I almost texted you earlier to tell you about what I learned at the doctor’s office but decided not to. I don’t think I could have handled a lack of response today. It’s that reminder that texts back might not come up on the screen that keep me from initiating. I hate that I need you and it’s one sided. I hate that I can’t tell you what’s happening because it doesn’t feel welcome anymore, and it keeps adding to how much I already feel isolated. Some bits of this week were easier than last week, but the fact that I keep circling back here only proves my mind is still stuck in a loop.
I don’t know if you ever read this anymore. I don’t know if you ever want to talk to me or if you’re afraid or just uninterested. Or annoyed. I don’t know if seeing this would even prompt you to try, or if you care. I would hope that if you’re reading, you would at least attempt an inquiry. I’ve regressed to teenage cake with a shiny new disease without a cure, and with more promises of uncertainty, pain, and discomfort. Oh, and with the added bonus of being degenerative this time. When I “talk” to you I’m really talking to myself. I lash out, I get angry, I ball up and I cry, and I exhaust myself, and every ounce of my being unashamedly misses you. When I talk to myself it’s because I don’t know how to get back to you. And it’s scary. Everything is scary. I just want to tell you that. That’s all.