My beautiful, beautiful creature,
Again and again I question this way of addressing you. Is this OK? Is this comfortable?
This is going to be weird one. Today my mind keeps jumping around like a frog on mushrooms, making weird sounds and even weirder connections.
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I'm not going to lie because I cannot. Today was.. Tough. My head keept spinning out of control, and what started as an active, productive, well planned day quickly derailed to anxiety and slight depression.
I went back to questioning everything. Being afraid. Doubting.
I realised that I deserve nothing. Nothing at all. I'm not worthy of people. Of you. Of him. I am not worthy of love. But I'm not going to tell you any of that. There's no use.
Why would I sink you to whatever darkness I sit in?
So I want you to shush.
I want you to take a deep breath and just... Shush.
There's no need to worry. Or to feel sad about. There's no need to tear ourselves apart.
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Maybe it was stupid of me to get that tiny robin on my arm - what if all of this goes to shit? Now it's going to be there forever. Maybe it was mad. Yet, some part of me disagrees. It felt right, it felt necessary, it felt crutial to give it a home in that weird, magical forest of mine - a permanent place of belonging, of pulse, of warmth close to me.
Even if all of this goes to shit.
Even if at some point all we'll have will be a nod in the corridor.
I told you that people leave. And it's ok. They have their reasons.
My heart rarely leaves them, though.
I will always care. There's nothing that can be done about it - not now, not ever.
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You're right - you're not my therapist, never were, never will be. I'm not going to tell you anything unless you ask me.
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I sometimes think that I see you from a perspective of a raindrop.
There is a dimple - a dimple? Is that the right word? - on your right cheek.
That's where I'd live if I'd land on your face.
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You mentioned that you sometimes go on a treadmill and your cat sits there and looks at you like you're crazy.
What my brain did with this information is replaced your cat with me in front of your treadmill, touching myself while looking at you and waiting for you to be done.
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As you can see, my mind right now is an equivalent of a potato salad. Sad, horny, happy, depressed, scared, confused like a weird piece of acid jazz - sounds cool on paper, but is quite hard to listen to in real life.
I'm putting myself to bed with hopes that tomorrow will be different.
And it will be.
It has to.
There is no other way.