Wednesday, 7 August 2013

Letter to... the one who noticed.


We'd been friends for a while, until we wanted more. You came to my house and never left, watching films on my teeny tiny tv, relaxing on a floor bed of duvet and pillows. We ate dinner together. Got some pets. We were happy. Only, you saw me crying, inconsolable, at photo albums of my much loved Gran, you battled into the bathroom and mopped up blood running down my arm, you peeked behind the mask and didn't run. 

You helped me to get help.

That day, sat in the mental health nurses all-too-comfy chair you cried with me. That day, with a thousand thoughts whirling round my head, I knew you would never leave, you'd seen my soul, bared raw, seen me, more vulnerable than a person has any right to be, and you stayed. You visited. You did the housework while I was away and you celebrated me coming home. You built me back up into a person of worth. And even now, years down the line, when I'm struggling and go a bit quiet, when my finger nails dig half moons into the skin on my thigh, you notice, you always notice.

There are no words to say my thanks, to explain my love for you. But for now, just for now.

We'll be forever and always.

Meg x

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