This is tough. This is like well done steak kinda tough. I mean I like my steak well done but I still want to be able to get my teeth into it. I can’t get my teeth into this.
People say that it’s a burden or emotionally abusive to say that a person is instrumental to their happiness. Unfortunately, despite its connotations, you are instrumental to my happiness.
I can only really gather the courage to write this because I don’t think you’ll ever read it. If you were to discover this I hope you wouldn’t realise that it’s for you. If you were to realise that, you’d be angry. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me?!”, would be your response.
I can’t talk to you though. Not now. You’re a teenage boy in a cave right now; agitated and isolated and you love it.
I’m asking you to be someone that you can’t be, at least not yet. I’m not there yet either, my therapist calls it “fake it until you make it”. I’m faking it so much that I don’t think you know that I’m terrified like you.
You think I’m strong which is why you talk to me the way you do. I’m not strong, I’m barely getting by.
I wonder where we’ll be in ten years. Will we find this funny? Or will we still be bitter?
I think we’ll find it funny. We’ll be different people by then. I’ll still be stubborn and you’ll still be grumpy but we’ll be a bit softer.
Years of “good living” and hindsight will have made us softer.
I cannot wait until we’re softer. I cannot wait until life is how we imagine it to be. We’ll be the envy of people on Instagram (if it still exists) and we’ll be smug. We will be allowed to be smug because of all the shit we will have to endured to get to that point.
This is the shit and I’m sorry that right now even my name annoys you. Guess what, yours doesn’t make me best pleased either.
But when I think about my life at 33 you’re there. You are instrumental to my happiness and that irritates me so much. I’m stronger with you, and that bothers me. We’re better people when we’re together. We’re softer. We’re faking it less and making our dreams a reality.
This, right now, is shit. You’re being shit and I’m being shit. At least we’re consistent.
In 10 years time you will no longer be known at DTB; isn’t that a refreshing thought?
So I’ll let you be a teenage boy in a cave as long as you let me be a middle aged woman having a midlife crisis whilst going through the menopause. This is making us softer. The steak is no longer as hard to chew.