Goodnight From Seattle

I can’t turn any of it off tonight.

My heart.

My mind.

My brain.

None of it will succumb to sleep. I took my pug Ansley for a walk after writing my last blog. I listened to the traffic speed by, saw two streetlights without operable bulbs, and a couple in the midst of a, in my opinion, heated argument. While I didn’t impose or stay long enough to understand what the quarrel was over; I’ll admit it did wake up a part of me that I wish had remained dormant, and I felt my palms sweat and my heart pound.

I remember that tone of voice. Oh how my heart aches for her.

What could anyone have possibly done that would justify using a tone of voice that I would not use on someone who I loathe? Why can people tear away at someone who truly loves them? Does one get off and find self gratification in destroying what loves them most?

They must. You don’t destroy people that love you. What gives you that right and power to slowly whittle away at a human soul?

Chronic illness and isolation go hand in hand. Sometimes we need to get away to refill our voids. There are times when I turn my phone off for a day or so, drink tea, read the paper, and take in my surroundings. I have a hard time remembering that there are other people that suffer like me. I draw myself into my shell, lock it, and throw away the key.

And then, I feel like this.

Some may say I seem depressed. I’m not. I’m not suicidal. This isn’t a cry for help. It’s simply a girl who has a chronic illness and reaches out to share her story in hopes (there’s that dreaded word again)that it may reach someone’s heart. I don’t get paid for writing, nor is that my goal. My end purpose is to reach someone’s heart.

Oh my sweet sisters. My heart cries for you tonight.

I know how it feels to be alone. I know the tears you’ve cried. I can taste their salt and every emotion you pour into them. Let me catch them for you. I will keep them in my heart where they will be so very safe. So acknowledged. So understood.

My sweet sisters. You are not alone. I am here with you.

I chuckle in my solitude I’ve found tonight. It’s quite ironic how this world works. Those who need love don’t seem to find it. And those who need it most seem to give it to the wrong person. And once we’ve done that; it’s so hard to give it to the right person because the wrong one didn’t love us back. And so now, we as humans believe, as we are taught, that we are not worthy of loving. That we are broken. That we can’t be reconditioned.

We are worthy. We are not broken. We do not need fixed. We need to be understood and loved as who we are.

I know too well reaching out for someone’s hand to find nothing but cold air. I know too well the nights spent awake, covered in your own sweat, not knowing how it changed, when it changed, and how to get it back.

I know too well how it feels to believe you’ve failed.

Oh my sweet sisters. You have not failed.

And, sadly, I know too well how it feels to stare into the eyes of the person you love, pleading silently, and praying from the pits of your soul that they see just for a moment what you cannot say — and the sheer shattering of your being when they don’t.

I know how it feels to love someone in silence, from a distance, because you cannot bring them into your sick world. They don’t deserve it. They don’t understand. They can’t understand. Or they won’t. That’s the worst, when they just don’t try. That isn’t true. That’s not the worst. The worst is when they stop trying.

You want to protect them; so you love them in silence. You distance yourself. You laugh out loud when you’re at dinner with friends, them, and their new girlfriend. You swallow the salt of your own tears so they don’t have to wipe them away. You take it all in, the tears, the pain, the secrets, the despair…so they don’t have to. You break to keep them whole.

But what you’re really doing, my sweet sisters, is denying yourself the chance to be loved by someone, that maybe, just maybe, might be worth it this time. That might be worth you.

You are not your illness. You are not those statistics. You are so much more. A fighter. A lover. A beautiful girl. Yes, you may be sick. Yes, you may have bad days. But those fragments do not make up your whole.

Continue to breathe. Even if it’s slow breaths. Continue your journey. Even if it’s one step. Continue to love. Continue to fight. Continue to be.

Don’t. Give. Up. 🎗

Goodnight From Seattle,