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“I’m headinghomefor the night. Is that all?” I send a million prayers to whomever is listening that he does something—anything. That he tells me how stupid he acted last night.
“That’s all.” He continues to type on his laptop, and my heart explodes. I don’t even want to think of the damage this will do to the rest of my body.
Oh, Damon. You warned me you’d crush my heart.
Over Two Years Ago . . .
Time stands still when you’re miserable.
It doesn’t accelerate the way you wish it would, doesn’t fast forward. You’re stuck in this perpetual hell of flames pushing everyone away.
My worst fears have come true.
Harv and I have a new mundane routine. I don’t know how to cope with it. I keep telling myself acceptance is key, yet I’m grieving our old life with the million possibilities.
It’s harder than we thought it would be. Harvey’s frustrated during PT; sometimes he moves forward, and sometimes he takes ten steps back.
Then we’re back to square one.
Where he lives in a constant state of depression and ignores me.
On days where he makes a breakthrough—no matter how small—I’m practically jumping for joy for him, cheering him on. So are his parents and Hen.
The one thing that remains the same? We still play videogames together. Except there’s no laughter, no silly remarks or flirtatious fun. We’re both silent.
Does he, too, ask himself how we got here?
Gia and my dad are my rocks. Though Gia’s been busy with her baby girl while some days it feels like I might as well plan my own funeral.
I’m happy for her. Her good news keeps me distracted. I need some good and some positive and some laughter and smiles.
Little milestones accomplished by Athena make me happy.
I won’t even get started on how bleak life would be without Henrik too.
I can tell Gia wants to help us. It’s obvious we’re struggling, pushing everything under the rug. What good are support groups for patients like Harv if he won’t agree to go to them? He even stopped private counseling and refused to do couples therapy in the first place.
I knew our life would change, that it’d never be the same. But we can adapt; we can make it a beautiful one.
We’re just both too stuck in the past to accept the present and build a better future.
I want to help him, but he refuses.
He doesn’t want help to bathe or dress, which is a blessing as it pushes him to use his muscles. Either Hen, his dad, or his nurse watch over him in case.
It’s great that he can use his hands, his arms, his torso.
Still, I feel strange about a woman watching him bathe. It holds no sexual meaning, yet it’s as if he pushed me out of his bedroom first and then his bathroom.
What’s next, his heart? His life?
I wish he’d let it out. Scream, yell, throw something—anythingis better than this.
I’m also thankful for my full-time job. Even more so for itsflexibility to work from home should I wish. While I hate leaving Harv, some days I need it—distance from this melancholy.
Because he’s good at hiding it. He smiles and laughs with his parents. The only people who truly see the change are Hen and me. His friends come over sometimes, but it’s not the same. He can’t pull crazy stunts with them the way he used to.
I put away my mindless thoughts, trying to focus on the book in my lap, when there’s a knock at my door.
