Sometimes they answer straight away. Ready to talk, help, support. Other times, you can’t get hold of them. And it reminds you. Reminds you that you drop in priority at times. The times when she increases in importance. It’s easier to drop you. You don’t mind. Don’t kick up a fuss. But she will. And that’s just the way that it’s always been.



He said he just doesn’t understand how they can’t have any money. Must be nice to not be able to imagine that.


It’s been so long now. You don’t really know how to eat without counting. Each morsel. Every bite. The amount you eat dictates the mood of the day. An unplanned meal change causes anxiety. If you knew you were going to eat that for dinner you wouldn’t have had that extra cereal bar earlier. You had planned on two slices of toast, but you didn’t get to the gym. So one slice it is. It’s hard to stop. Feels uncontrolled. You’re so used to having control. But it’s necessary. For you. For them.


He said it’s over. It’s been coming for a while. He’s let things slide up until now. The comments. The lack of control on his part. The demands on hers. But he’s going to wait. Doesn’t want to do it now. Doesn’t want to upset her. He doesn’t seem to realise, things like that have no schedule. It doesn’t matter what time of year it happens. What day. How it’s planned. It will hurt. Regardless.


It’s hard sometimes. I just need to know what is going to happen. All the time. Anything unexpected completely throws me. I need at least a day or two to get used to an idea. I can’t just do something completely unplanned. Food is easy. Order a shop online so you know what you’re going to eat week to week. Work is manageable. A routine. A set schedule. It’s the unstructured time that’s harder. But I’m getting better. Most of the time.


You try. Attempt to create a life for yourself. Like you’re supposed to. Like you’ve always been told to. But that’s easy in theory. And they’re still supportive. But only when that life fits in with their vision. With what they had imagined.  They don’t say much. Not explicitly anyway. Just drip feed. Every now and then a comment. If only you weren’t so far away. If only it was easier to come and see you. Little effort made on their part. But dismay at the perceived lack on yours. It’s painful. It’s too slow. Like tendons ripping, slowly pulling. A clean break is needed really. But that feels cruel, and you can’t bring yourself to do that. Not yet. Probably not ever. So it continues.