Together We Can Make It

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I will never forget when you first walked through those blank, white halls.
One foot in front of the other, counting tiles on the floor,
so you don’t have to focus the blur of painted smiles,
Fake faces.
My heart stopped, when I saw you through the glass.
Checking in.
Answering questions.
“Why are you here?”
“How can you change?”
“Do you know how much you’re hurting those who love you?”
The questions of so-called doctors that are just as crazy, if not crazier than us.
Following orders.
“Give me your bags; I need to search your belongings.”
“Take off your shoelaces.”
“Place your toiletries in this bucket.”
“Oh, and is it okay for me to cut the strings out of these pants?”
“Sign here.”
“Sign here.”
“Sign here.”
What am I signing exactly?
Is it a document stating that I’m crazy?
Maybe, if people would just understand.
The trauma of losing a mother at such a young age.
Why can’t we be depressed without being thrown into a loony bin?

I hate this feeling.
Like I’m here, but I’m not.
Like someone cares, but they don’t.
Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here.
And escape lies just beyond those plexi glass windows.
You walked through the door,
Sat on the floor,
Next to me.
Three other pairs of jealous eyes staring you down,
From head to toe.
“Do you want to play cards?”
Just so you know,
I cheated that whole game.
Your cards were wide open for my wandering eyes to see.
So, you’re to blame.

It wasn’t until the next day, when we became close.
Being so close, but closely watched.
Walking to the place where our hunger was to be fulfilled,
But because of the meds, we didn’t have the desire to eat.
The desire to fill our bellies with food,
The desire to do anything but find a way out.
Every doorway we entered was locked behind us,
Was bolted shut.
Was made to make us feel like criminals.
What did we do that was really so bad?
Our lives may have been cut short, if not for
Hurried interventions by loved ones.
Or fate.

We would do anything for a quick touch,
Even if it was just to grab each other’s hand.
Anything to make us feel alive,
Wanted,
Loved,
Satisfied,
And more importantly, important.

Folding our arms across our chest so we could hide our intertwined fingers
We wouldn’t dare let them see.
“Boys and girls cannot sit next to each other on the couches.”
And when our lips met,
The feeling of need rushed through me,
But soon got interrupted by a loud bang.
“HEY! THIS IS NOT A MATCH MAKING FACILITY!”
And, “ WE DON’T WANT ANY BABIES NAMED AFTER VERMILLION!”
Maybe we need to feel love.
Maybe we need to feel wanted.
Maybe if we just had these feelings, the demons in our mind would go away.

Far away.
And never return.
Like I did on that Monday.
I hated having to leave you.
Tears ran down my face, as my dad’s truck pulled away.
It wasn’t until I was down the road when I opened your letter.
It ended with a smile.
It ended with hope.
And I knew we would find a way to work things out.
We’re overcoming these obstacles of addiction, alcoholism, and depression.
But together we can make it.
Together we can stay strong.
Together we can

Life is all about change.
If it were the same, think about how boring it would be.
You can’t be afraid of it.
You can’t worry you’ll mess things up.
You deserve great things,
And I want to be one of them.

This is our story.
Our story.
There’s no need to worry,
There’s plenty left to do.
Plenty of time left for just me and you.

I love you.





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