Sailing Through

I told you about the
card of pills
and my heart flutter
side effects
and how scared I was.


I told you 
things I didn't want to
even admit to myself.
I told you things
that make me feel
dirty and horrible
and very sad.


I told you about the
Zoloft. I told you
how it was there.
And how much 
it scared me.


And I think in the process
I scared you.
I didn't mean to,
really, I promise.
But you stuttered and 
looked frightened.
I told you these things calmly,
about my will breaking
down at points
and how I wasn't sure
what would happen.


I only cried near the end.
And you looked pretty scared
then, too. 


But you spoke back
calmly. You said
strong words and nice
words and you 
handled it better
than I could.


This is why I tell you
these things.
I know you will react
differently, as you are
wont to do for many reasons.
You are proactive and try
to make solutions instead
of just saying that you're
sorry this happens, 
or that you feel bad
or understand.
You make me feel
stronger because
you yourself
are strong.


You can gather
words and make
them into something tangible to
help me.


You will never know
how much you help me.
You say you have no answers.
And I know there are no answers
to these things I confront you with.
But the fact that you 
don't run away or ignore me
is enough.


I wanted to hug you when
I left- you're the only
one I could tell at that point.
I couldn't bring myself to
tell anyone else.
Because you have a type
of emotional detachment
nobody else does.


Which sounds harsh.
But it's true.
But I wanted to hug you
as I left. But instead
you gave me a worried
and sympathetic look
and I left. 


I will probably talk to 
you again tomorrow.


But I did have a good night.
I ate yummy things
with my fun wonderful 
dearest Marie and went 
shopping and had a lovely time.


Riboflavin.


To conclude, cockily enough,
I am proud of myself
for being gutsy enough
to tell you these things.
I am so happy I can trust you.