Till the bitterest end.
When I'm there, I do my best to look cheerful and happy. In fact, it doesn't matter anymore. But I pretend to myself it does.
I wish it could be different. I wish so many things could have been different. I wish we could have been different. Most of all, I wish I can have what it takes to endure.
Today I'm feeling acutely my sadness, my sorrow, my helplessness. So many things unsaid, undone.
I look at her and my heart bleeds. My soul bleeds. My eyes look into her blank eyes, searching for some lucidity, for the one she was. But she's not there anymore. What does she feel now? How does it feel to be so fucking out of one's mind?
She's more and more fragile everyday. She has changed so much since last spring. (And I fear there will be no other spring.) Now I have to help her to stand up, and hold her firmly when we walk. She's curved. The drugs keep her calm, and also limit her movements.
Right now, I just feel like crying, yelling, moaning, wailing till this pain get the fuck out of me. Well, it wouldn't work, and I know it. So, I breathe in, breathe out. And write.