How do you manage?
He asks.
How do you keep going
When it feels like your soul is breaking into bits
You can’t breathe
You can’t move
All you want is for existence to cease
When you forget that sometimes it’s all okay
Good, even
How do you survive?
Weather the storm, so to speak.
He smiles wryly, sadly.
I know he’s downplaying his desperate need to understand what I do.
I’m not sure I can explain
But I try my best.
Well, I sit there
With the pills
With the booze
With the pain
And I talk to myself
Like a nutso.
It’s all I know to do.
I say,
Not tonight.
Just go to sleep.
See how you feel tomorrow.
See how you feel in the morning.
And if you still feel like shit
You can do it then.
What’s the rush?
I pause, shrug.
That’s really it.
And so far, I’ve never felt as bad in the morning.
So far, he repeats.
Yup. So far.
What if that changes? What if one day it doesn’t work?
A bead of sweat formulates just below his hairline.
I stare at it, fixated.
Shrugging again.
Hasn’t happened yet.
That’s all I’ve got.
I can tell he’s frustrated, that he thinks I’m lying, holding back…
He can think what he likes.
It’s not my responsibility to convince him of how I survive.
It is my responsibility to keep doing it.
Until I don’t.
