Before I say this, let me explain...

This isn't an ordinary open letter. It came to me the instant I thought about it, of the first person I met and began dating after college was over. After all the parties were over, the degree was in my hand, and my last partner gone and away from me... I thought happiness had found me in the form of a man I came to know as just another ordinary person. But here's the thing... The people we end up with aren't always going to make our lives filled with sunshine and rainbows... Sometimes they have memories that just aren't things most people want to hear... Memories that send them to the brink, to the far out places that we can't reach them at... A week in, and I was then alone after that... Just for a bit. This is a letter, more like letters, of what things were like during that week he was gone... But I'll let him tell that...

From the bottom of the pit...

The night I was in the ER, before my transport to ***, was the most lonely night ever. I thought, I just want to have her by my side. However, I didn't want her to see me in this state. The ride to *** was a hopeful one. A gentleman by the name of *** spoke to me through the entire ride. I tried to talk very minimally about her because I know it was just sadden me more through the experience. When I arrived there, after going through the basic procedures, I sat down and began thinking of the man I'd be after my treatment. Not just for myself, but to her. Would I be different? Would I be better? Would I be worse? I recollected myself and remembered I was there to get better. She knew what this felt like though, that was an issue I faced in knowing her; what anxiety and depression felt like. I went through each day feeling as though I was going through kindergarten, toying with the small tasks given to me by the doctors. I felt like I was trapped inside some Twilight Zone experience, but I had to remind myself that I put myself there.

But thinking about her helped keep myself together. I just wanted to hold her; to just see her smile. It wasn’t until Friday would I hear her voice; for five minutes, my heart fell and made me want to cry. The sweet sound I heard through the phone receiver had me worried, I could hear her tearing up. She was just as afraid as I was about what was going on. Being in this place, at any moment, there was something that could trigger me... An out of control patient could’ve walked up to me and kicked me around, but I would look at the back of my journal and gaze at picture she had taken of herself before our first time out. It reminded me that she, though far, was waiting, patiently at home… But I still was afraid of what she’d think of me. As my discharge date approached, all I could think about was sneaking behind her at work; holding her so tightly and not letting go. I wanted this so badly because being with her made me feel at home; with myself. That’s about it.