The last few days, I’ve been doing well. I didn’t expect that–I thought May would be a hundred times worse than April. Instead, I’ve been able to fall 100% into work and getting caught up on three massive projects.
Which is exactly what I was doing when I got a text message: “Just wanted to let you know I’m coming home soon,” from my lost friend.
I talked to him for a few minutes. It was pretty clear that neither of us was really sure how to have a conversation right now. I felt my heart slow down each time his name flashed on the screen, and then I spent five to ten minutes debating how to respond to each message. No message was longer than a brief, to-the-point sentence.
I made an assumption about why he told me he was coming home. I figured he wanted me to set up his flights. I’ve been his travel agent for a year and a half. Nope, he already had his flights figured out. He was just giving me a head’s up. Nothing more.
So after the conversation ended, I cried. I wrote a short entry in the journal under my pillow. I shut down my work computer and listened to music for a little while. Now I’m here, sharing too many personal details with the anonymous faces on the internet.
I get to up my dosage of lamotrigine tomorrow. We’ll see if that has any effect. I keep telling myself to be patient. Text messages–a name on a cell phone–should not be able to rip apart my world.
Funny. I keep thinking I’m climbing out of Hell, and a few days later, I’m right back where I started.