I know he's not real.
I don't think I'm crazy either, but for the three minutes I can conjure up the preacher in my head those are three minutes that the ache inside my chest doesn't hurt quite so much. That's all.
It seems as if there are as many people rooting for me sometimes as there are rooting for me to fail and be swallowed up by my own inability to cope with everything. I'm trying so hard. Unconventionally so and I was given a pass so I use it. Sometimes I feel like I need to be destructive and sometimes I feel thoroughly insane and sometimes I'm perfectly content.
Sometimes I even forget, can you believe it? You can thank Ben for that. Loch too. You can credit them all for the tight net of support I fall into every day whether things go well or not. You can hate them or blame them but at the end of the day you should thank them for everything. For throwing open the big garage doors (all three at once) and telling me to come out of the shadows, into the sun, that it was time to go inside, that wishes don't work like this, that everything will be okay.
That no one is mad at me for spending time with the Devil or with a ghost.
That I should sleep a whole lot more.
That downtime is actually a thing one can do every single day.
That I'm so hard on myself who else would have the heart to be?
They make me cry and that also makes the ache in my chest hurt just a little less too.
I wish I could be crazy. I wish I could let myself off the hook. I wish things sometimes would change but I wouldn't give any of these souls up the way I so hastily gave away my own.
Thanks for the sweet notes. I'm so touched. So humbled.
