Thank you for not making me explain it.
You get how tired I am. How much I hide. How exhausting it is to put on a brave face on the bad days, weeks, months. You get with all of the armor, it still hurts to hear what people think- especially when they are so far from the truth about me. But I face forward, and brush it off over and over again. They don't really know me, and fuck them.
You also get I still have good days, weeks, months. A lot of people don't get there can be good and bad.
You told me I scared you- I don't think you have any idea how much I scare myself. When I detach. When I disappear. I'm good at hiding it though. You told me I could tell you if it's a bad day.
We both know I'll never make that call. Kind of awful, isn't it? I can't promise anything.
That being said, I know I've made it this far. I'm still breathing, and thankfully I have people like you who remind me it's okay to be short of breath too.
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