When she smiles down at me, my skin heats. She glows with victory against the bitter winds and the rain that solely serves to sharpen its bite. She is warm. They say she's many things, things I don’t agree with, but I know for a fact that she is warm. Sweet relief.
Movement is easier now, no longer the painful, stiff ordeal it had been prior. Fatigue is overwritten by her mere presence. My calendar seamlessly transitions from meetings, classes, and personal projects, to simply indulging in her. And it feels amazing. Existence no longer hurts. It's all finally clicked.
My friends tell me I should see someone. For my health. They say that they're worried about her effect on me. My declining mental state, supposedly. They didn't want to intervene but it's getting out of hand and they have to put a stop to it because they care. They care? All I can think of is the comfort of her embrace, the soft warmth seeping into my skin in her proximity. They don't do that for me. They talk of her causing the distance between my friends and I - distance that I hadn't taken note of - and talk of her swaying my personal decisions. Supposedly, she has distracted me and steered me off course, as if I could bring myself to care. Materialistic goals could never outweigh this overwhelming relief.
It isn't difficult to wave off their concerns once I think about it. I reach the conclusion that, if I am getting worse - which I am not - then I will do so whilst having her to support me.
Nothing could really be wrong, not with her there.
Then the fallout grows too large. The unfairness of it all eats away at every thought, contaminating my clouded mind. Relentless.
I didn't do anything. Not to deserve this, at least. I still have her, but it’s becoming difficult to keep the resentment at bay. She brings me much needed comfort, so how could I possibly be any better off without her? How could I dare to resent her? Surely, this was the consequence of my friends poisoning my thoughts. There was nothing more to it.
It couldn't be her.
Everyone knows it's her.
It grows exponential, uncontrollable. I'm so afraid.
My friends aren't around anymore to gloat about their assumptions. I consider myself better off for it. Appointments with doctors fill up my calendar - classes, projects, and indulgence long forgotten. I can't see her as often but I still have her. She's there for me. Always has been, always will be.
I am nothing if not grateful. I am well and truly nothing.
Now I've been sitting on this cold chair for hours. This cold chair in this cold room that is doing little to shelter me from the cold outside. I stop thinking about it once the first hour passes, numb exhaustion clawing into my skin, tearing me apart and lighting my nerves on icy fire.
I wish she was here with me, but I couldn't bring her here. She doesn't fit. The sound of the rows and rows of people around me morphs into that of a droning swarm, akin to that of distant bees. I'm tired and hungry and I'm tired of waiting. Then after hours, my name is called.
They tell me there's no hope.
I close my eyes and resolve to end with her warmth. I am better off this way.
I wrote this while rolling anticipatory grief around in my mind every moment of every day. The metaphor ended up mutating anyway - it barely means what I initially meant it to. Still, I think back a lot to this period of my life. How I felt nothing and everything in crashing waves. I still struggle with it now, but I'm glad I'm better.