You were decent-looking. Nice. Funny. I thought you would be smart. I remember being too shy to talk to you because I was afraid you wouldn't like me....
How do you fall in love with someone you meet on a psych ward and end up staying with them for two and a half years? Strangely...not strangely. The same way you fall for somebody any other place. It's just in confinement; there's some humor to it.
I dated you but not really. We just started spending all our time together, since we were in the same treatment program, living in separate housing situations but bused to the same place every day. I remember the day I told you, I love you because you told me something terrible that happened to you once and I realized I did love you, and I meant it. I don't think you knew how rare it was for me to say that to anyone. I don't know if you'd care if I told you now, how rare that was. You might.
I look back on my life with you and I wonder, what if I never met you? Would I have been better off? Would you be better off? What if we didn't get so wrapped up in each other? What if...what if I never landed in a psychiatric hospital for months at all. What if I never got sick.
What if I never got sick?
I would have finished college by now, if I never got sick. I would have had a relationship with somebody, probably, and maybe somebody who also never got sick. Maybe it would have worked out, and maybe we'd be married. Maybe I'd have kids, or maybe not. Maybe I would have a steady, full-time job somewhere and like it. I might have the sense of accomplishment that would bring.
You never realized I was sick. You always acted like everything was fine. Everything wasn't fine. I heard voices telling me to kill myself just last week, and it was not because you left, it was because I am sick.
Sick. sick. sick.
I am so tired of being sick.
You and I, if we didn't have our problems, might have made it and had a good relationship. Maybe not, since, really, we had nothing in common much. I can get along with people with whom I have nothing in common, but I don't know if I'd want to marry one of them.
You never wanted to hear about my symptoms, when they arose. It bothered you. It bothered you to hear about how I used to be. I never, ever told you about this blog. I never would have let you read it.
You never even really new me.
Few people do.
I am tired of being sick. I want to be myself again. I want to be me when I was able to think clearly and do well in college. I want to be me when I was still thin, and attractive, and easily met people who wanted to date me. I don't want to be overweight, whether it's from psychiatric drugs or not, all people see when they look at me now is a fat person, not a human being.
I am tired of being sick. I wanted SO BADLY to go to Smith College. And I almost did. You never heard of Smith College. It's not your fault. You never went past ninth grade. But you know, I'm kind of smart. And I guess you never knew that either because I didn't bother to let it show.
I have become such a total waste and a failure at life, and then you left and now I am alone and I am nothing.
So you call and tell me that I can call you when I'm upset, that you don't want me to be upset, that you actually do love me, and I am a beautiful person, and I'll meet somebody else. But I'm sick. I'm sick with something that has DESTROYED much of my life. And then there is regular life, and things happen like boyfriends leaving, and I am still trying to do regular life while dealing with being sick, and sometimes it just gets overwhelming. So I cried, pathetically, to you on the phone. I can't help that; it's who I am. I get emotional. A lot of people do. You don't seem to, but a lot of people do.
I'm just tired of being sick. No matter what I do, Schizophrenia is defining my goddamn life, and I hate that fact, and I want to change that more than anything, but I don't know how. No miracle pills exist. You never understood this about me. You never really cared to understand much about me. I listen to you talk about your 12 - step program and I tell you that you're doing a great job transforming your life, and I mean it. But you never gave me any credit for all the work I did to change my life.
I met you, after all, in a hospital. I came a long way from there. But I'm still sick, and now you're gone and I'm sick all by myself again. I can't help but be hurt by that.