Breathe. Something is obviously wrong when I have to remind myself to do that. Only every time I breathe, I realize how unstable I feel. It feels like I keep walking in the wrong direction, grasping at straws, or following a trail to nowhere. Holding on is the best I can do, and it gets harder as time goes on. It's a struggle, a never ending journey to a place I don't even know exists anymore.
Mired in a bog, knee deep in the mud I travel. Hesitant to move forward for fear of sinking further, unwilling to go back for fear I won't know the way, to the left and right look no better than ahead of me. Upon further reflection, I see a pattern, I'm a sucker for hard cases. All I want to do is help, but if I don't make it worse, it's unwelcome.
And maybe it's not her that's needs the help, maybe it's me. She won't help me understand though, no matter how I try. So what's the trouble? I don't really know, and that's the problem. It's like she doesn't want me to understand, or know what's going on with her. The not knowing is eating me up inside, she's gotten quite well under my skin. I'm afraid it's started affecting my work, my terrible attitude coming out on the undeserving. I've had to apologize more than once for being a little too sarcastic and apathetic.
So long as I can remember, I've been sensitive, over-much at times. Little things matter to me more than some of the big things, and I'm not sure she understands that. I'm also fairly jealous, though not loudly so. Since we're admitting things, felt that was a good one to add. More a side note than anything else. I still read the letters and emails she and I wrote to each other, and I remember where I was when I first read them all.
Afghanistan obviously, but specifically. I also remember one night when she was able to visit me, walking behind a civilian couple holding hands and following suite. One of my fondest memories of them all. Memories like those are what keeping me waiting though, that and she told me she'd like me to wait for her, it's easier said than done. Though as you can see, I am trying.
I listen to the songs we shared with each other, the Civil Wars, Lady Antebellum, and Tom Baxter to name a few, fairly often. Just brings back memories, which doesn't necessarily help, but nothing but her helps, so I might as well get as close as I can. I can only hope she remembers like I do, and someday tells me she wants to make more. Until then, well, I've got lots of space to write.
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