I hate the way you look at me
As if I was broken
And the perfection of my frailty
Has been questioned and broken
Here's the part where I cook up a crow and eat the whole thing, and then stand on my life's stage and clear my throat rather hesitantly before speaking to the crowd. The part where I make all apologies. Not to myself or to you, but to Jacob, who puts up with so much of my bullshit I think the next version of him will come with a shovel included.
I fell apart completely in our therapy this afternoon. I couldn't catch my breath, I couldn't keep myself together at all. I had a total and utter meltdown in the therapists office to the point where Jacob and the doctor began discussing what would happen next if I didn't come up for air.
He had pointed out my contradictions in saying I would never leave him and then my wondering out loud if I should leave him. He told me I needed to stay. He explained that the meals were because I don't eat. The weight checks are again, because I don't eat. The pills, because we had all previously agreed that I only take them when Jake gives them to me. The clothes and bedtimes, because I've been so sick, and I just had surgery, I'm supposed to rest more. I need to stay warmer, I'm too thin to be warm. The email, because it was for a nursery Christmas party that I had helped with last year and he figured all the babies might upset me. I hear half of everything he tells me and I won't wear the hearing aids because they remind of a day in which I didn't think I could get any happier, and he wants me to wear them and hear everything so that this doesn't happen. The Christmas trip? The same one he's been talking about since June. The one that I forgot about. On the inside I had lost it completely. All this was to help me. On the outside? Nothing. Why does he still love me anyways?
Two hours into it he just stopped, not knowing what to do next. He sat on his knees in front of my chair and held my hands and implored me to say something, anything and I opened my mouth and no sound came out. But then the tears started and I was so angry at myself this time that I tried again, just as he stood up and shook his head at our counselor, who probably had the hospital on standby at this point, ready to come and get me and shoot me with a needle in the arm full of something wonderful and let me sleep.
This time the sound was there.
I'm sorry, Jake.
Dammit, I didn't want to whisper it so I said it again, louder.
I'm sorry, Jake.
He heard me this time. He turned around and grabbed me right up out of the chair. Aside from holding hands as we rushed through the wind on the icy, snowy sidewalks to get to our appointment, it's probably been 24 hours since we touched each other. Far too long in our universe. He held me fiercely. Like if he let go of me that would be it.
I'm sorry too.
Don't be, you did nothing wrong. I jumped the gun. I'm stupid.
No, you're not. You just finally let the stress out.
I don't want to do this with you. This is too frightening.
Tell me about it.
We can't keep fighting like this.
I'd rather fight with you then get along with anyone else.
Jacob, that's a line from a movie.
An effective one, though, right?
So are we okay?
I don't know, are we? Do you hate me?
Bridget, I love you the most when you need me the most, when you try really hard not to be loved at all. I don't know why, I just do.
What movie is that from?
It's not. It's just the way things are.
I love you. I think we'll be okay.
I love you too. Can the next time we argue be just about leaving the toilet seat up or down, please?
You got it.
But we're both wondering if we'll ever learn to get along really well. For soulmates we spend a heck of a lot of time arguing with each other. Never over the little things though. Maybe that means something.