“Mal, I’m here.” I hear the words faintly over the roaring of my anxiety, panic, and pain. I sense your presence, even with my inability to make any sort of connection with the present moment. I’m busy trapped within my mind waging a war against myself. To let you in and allow you to experience this moment with me, or to shut the door and swallow the key?
This is the question my mind asks time and time again. Trying to decide between these two options is a decision I feel I cannot make. I am paralyzed trying to choose between them. The former would allow me to feel warmth and love, feelings that often soothe my frazzled mind. But the former also has its consequences. I might receive a text from you the next day telling me how I am too difficult to maintain a relationship with, how my illness is driving you away. Or worse, I might be forced to endure your silence and avoidance, forcing me to question every waking moment of my life.
But I don’t know if I want to shut the door and swallow the key leaving myself to cope in isolation. I want to ask you to stay, but I'm afraid if you stay, you’ll quickly choose to leave. And if you leave, I will have wished I had never asked you to stay. Those two sentences are just as confusing on paper as they are running through my mind mid-panic. I know you’re talking to me, trying to get through, but I’m having trouble forming words and expressing thoughts. My mind is creeping along at a snail’s pace. I’m giving off confusing signals and I apologize for that. Even I don’t know what to do. I mean, I know what I want, I’m just hesitant to open the door and welcome you in. It might drive you away, but it also might pull us closer. I’m fighting to make sense of this as I hear your voice again. “Mal, I’m here.” I slowly walk towards the door still unsure if I'm ready to let you in. Deep down…I really hope I do.