I don’t really have anything to say today, because I almost feel normal. I was excited about work today. I’m excited about going home today. I slept pretty well — my dreams are always too vivid and my brain never really feels like it shuts off.
Today I have this deep sense of acceptance for how things went. I can remember it all and at the end of the day all I can say is, “our types of crazy didn’t mix.” One day I’ll meet someone new and I’ll have to tell them to thank you for being there when I learned I couldn’t have caffeine, or when I learned that certain medications make it much worse. They’ll have you to thank for learning not to wake me up on the sofa, or how well I’m able to explain those moments when I start obsessing over finding or doing something that isn’t important. I’ll be prepared and it’ll be because of what you went through with me. I’ll always appreciate that. I know it wasn’t easy, I know it was hard and violent and painful, but I couldn’t have learned it any other way and I appreciate you being kind enough to be there.
I remember at the beginning of our journey we talked a lot about what an odd match we were. We had no similar hobbies. We didn’t like the same kind of music. But we were both alone, and we both felt lost. Thank you for being there when I needed someone, and I’m sorry that we didn’t part before things got hard. You were my friend when I needed one, and lent me a family when I felt I had none. We were by no means perfect, and I never expected us to be.
Mostly, thank you for it being over. I needed it to be over.