I know that you’re out there. I know that there is someone else on the other line, that someone has the other plastic cup with the string attached. No matter how far away, how large the distance may seem, I know that there is someone on the other end of this that cares, that wants. In my darkest moments, moments that I’ve had too many of over the last month or so (my lack-of-release-valve month), that matters.
I also know that you’re trying, that you’re caring, that you’re listening. That matters to me. It may not be enough for the fucked-up-ness that is me right now, but it matters nonetheless.
You listen and you may laugh, smile, cry, get angry… but you always listen. Maybe not every day, because that’s not the expectation, but I know you’re listening. I’m glad to know that there’s someone always listening that’s not the blackness, that’s not just me. It’s someone else. I love you for making it that way. I love you for making me matter. I may not feel it, but it’s a start.
You want to help. As hard as things are, wanting is the start. The start has been passed, the path of recovery is past that start, but we’re going.