• Here's a tired old cliche, but it is truth. I ache for you. I want to see you so much that it pains me. Sometimes it makes my chest hurt. Sometimes I am so nauseous that I can't eat. Sometimes what feels like a knitting needle through my skull by way of my left eye requires silence and total darkness because light and sound are both unbearable. Sometimes I just wish you were lying next to me because the aching is of a nature that I am sure you could satisfy.

  I'm still not on drugs and I have been drinking less in an attempt to process what is happening rather than refusing to deal with it. But sometimes I slip and drink too much and let it out here, which really isn't a good idea. Because of this fucked-up mess I've created, I can't even call or text you. I don't even know what I'd say. I can barely talk to you the few minutes I get to be alone together with you--minutes that I hope and wish for and look forward to all week, minutes that I am so grateful for when I get them, but that leave me sadder because I feel it will never be enough.

  I am weary. I want to be able to look you in the eye again, not to refuse the knowledge that what I want may not really be there, and no longer be afraid of what you might see in mine.

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