First of all, there is always another day. It stretches infinitely in front of me. It's another parade of days. Another sense of loss. Another day of waking up with this shitty reality. Another depressed day. Another round of tears. I feel like I'm in an endless abyss, lost for 40 years in the desert with no manna in sight.
I'm another year older. I feel so old. I'm at least double my age. Birthdays are hard. I just want normal life back and there is no normal, just my shitty reality. Libby says that I should let my hair go gray when she graduates from high school. Four more years I can keep up the appearances. But I don't care. I still want my mourning clothes. I don't want to explain why I act erratically. I want people to just be able to see. I understand why Queen Victoria wore mourning clothes for the rest of her life. And that was just for her husband.
I'm in another waiting room. It's for me or its for Libby. I can't tell you how many hours a week I'm waiting. I wait to be fixed for her someone to try to fix her. But there is no fixing either of us. We just have to make it through.
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