Monday, June 23, 2014

To Stew In My Soul

Its been awhile. I've had the hardest times of my life these past couple months and I can only beg that they're ending soon. I don't think I'm quite ready to share in full yet, but I will soon. For now, I sit in the dark, listening to the deep sounds of my lover's breathing. Its soothing, in a way - knowing that you're not alone, knowing that there's someone gladly and willingly sticking with you through whatever heads your way without a second thought. A lot of others would run. But he doesn't have those thoughts. And its strange and breathtaking to think that someone could ever care for you and love you so much that they want to stick with you through it all and they're watching and waiting and observing all the changes that happen in you. They watch you crumple up into a ball like a discarded piece of paper, hear your guttural howling scream when your in pain, and then they watch you wipe away all the tears, stand tall, and grow as a person. And they love seeing that. They love seeing you and getting to witness you and watching you go from the darkest place to the one of light.

I've had a lot of people tell I'm strong. Not physically, but all that other stuff on the inside. Because I made through a sickness, because I continue to truck through all these messed up health problems that I can't control without a second thought. But I don't think its true. I never have. Because I separate strength from apathy and I've always been apathetic to it all. I just don't care. When I was struggling through transplant I just didn't care. You can't care. You have to bottle all the shit up and swallow it with all your other pills because its all medicine and its the only way you heal. You focus on the happy things: about how skinny all this vomiting has made you (spoiler, its been gained back in full), about not throwing up that day, hell I'm still happy when I don't throw up because I have issues with my stomach. But I don't call that strength. That's just surviving. And I always feel like I'm just surviving.

But upon the agony and heart wrenching pain of death, I've been told again "you're strong". I just can't comprehend that that's the case. I still cry often enough. I can't remember the sound of my scream, but I can feel deep in my chest inside my throat, and its deep and guttural and almost like a howl of pain. I can feel it tearing through my throat, but when I open my mouth - silence. I can't hear it anymore. And when I swallow those feelings its like taking a pill without water - its dry and it gets stuck, a lump in your throat, and even after it goes down you still feel like its stuck there and it makes it hard to breathe. And all my memories from that morning blur and fade until all that's left are the freezeframes and feelings, and it still feels just as raw even when you can't see it.

Sitting in the car with my boyfriend, I ask "am I strong?" and he answers "I didn't think you were, but you're much stronger than I ever would have thought." When we stop at a light he turns to me and says "you're so strong" and with that I want to believe it so bad.

Every now and then he'll randomly say "your strong" out of nowhere, usually when I'm buried in thoughts. And if I ask him why he just says because you are, like its impossible for it to be any other way. And I desperately want to believe that.

And now I've typed much more than I was planning to. Its still dark and I'm still listening to his breathing. Today all I feel like doing is sitting down and stewing in my soul, seasoning and tasting it, finding out what its like now.

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