IN MY HEAD: A poison is slowly but surely killing me. Torture—like I was chained to a bed, and then they placed a pail over my head with a very tiny hole, and the water drops on my forehead, one drop after another.
DAY 14, REALITY: Twitter update accounts say he is headed to LA along with the boys. My calendar says he’s there for three days, performing for a finale of a reality show, and then back again here.
It was safe to be at the house in the woods.
Aside from the 500 Days bench, it was that other place where I think best. The calm and serenity that the place gives me is amusing, along with the warm coffee type of memories it brings up.
I was there, in the room that H and I share whenever we’re staying there, just rummaging through things. I liked looking around here, particularly because the house just contains so much of H’s life in every corner—his favorite stuffed bear on its own seat at the corner of the living room, the pictures of his family that hung above the fireplace, his first ever guitar with one string broken leaning against the wall next to where the Christmas tree is usually placed.
That’s when I found some sheets of paper, folded between a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice stacked behind the dresser.
I know that if I would date this, he would have written this in the past few months. And I get him now. I get him way better now than before this whole break started.
My thoughts collided with each other, wanting to explain myself to him. I want to assure him I need him and that I love him still, no matter how complete that I am feeling right now. I want him to understand that I know what life without him feels like, and it’s the worst kind of life. It’s not the kind of life I wanted to live.
Did I not do enough? Was I lax, because I was thinking that it was already enough that I chose to stay?
He was right—he needs to fix himself. And I would want to help him.
I wish he would let me help him.