“I can’t hold it in and I can’t even write it out. But I do, very, want to be missed. I dream of you at night.” — Anne Sexton

Hey loves, it's been a while.

I feel like there's this awful thing that sleeps inside me.
Like, if I'd just let it, it would open one of those terrible golden eyes and eat me whole.
You can call it a lot of things: depression, eating disorders, anxiety.
I prefer not to give it a name.

See, I went to a psychiatrist recently.
She told me a lot of things, tried to solve a lot of things, but I felt as if she didn't hear what I was saying.
Kind of like talking to a brick wall.
As it turns out, I'm depressed and I have anxiety, but not an eating disorder, never an eating disorder.
Because, it's not real and it's not an illness and I'm too embarrassed to admit to the counting and puking and starving and weighing.

I'd rather talk about death.
I'd rather talk about high expectations.
I'd rather talk about fears.
I'd rather talk about failing.
I'd rather talk about just anything.

I've been a lot of depressed lately with a teaspoon of trying mixed in.
That teaspoon is all that keeps me afloat.

I broke it off with M, six months ago as of today.
He promised, and didn't keep the promise, so I told him that "We're done, I promise".
It felt good then. It felt empowering. It felt as if I was in control.
He called once or twice since then.
I ignored his calls.
I slept through his birthday.
I did everything I could not to think about him.

Ever heard of what goes around, comes around?
Yeah, I don't feel so in control now.
And I want to call him so badly.
It's not just the great sex, I swear.
He, and I kinda hate to admit this even to myself, makes me feel so safe.
He's not safe, not safe at all, but I want him, and I want him with all my brokenness.
I made a promise though,
I don't break my promises.
I keep thinking that, he might call again and then it wouldn't be my fault. 
I wouldn't break a promise if he were the one to initiate it.

It's my birthday in a month or so.
I find myself counting down the days, because I hope he'll call me.
I hope that he misses me too.
I hope that he thinks of me.
I hope that he hopes that I won't ignore the message he sends me for my birthday, because he thinks I'm a nice girl, and nice girls always respond to well wishing people.

I hope he gives me some sign of life on the 23rd of may.
That's the date we first slept together last year.
I know wishing for that is a fool's errand, because boys only remember those dates for girls they care about, and sometimes not even then.

I had a dream a few days ago.
We met in five years, when we went to a school reunion.
I made him apologize to me and then we had the best sex I could imagine.
I guess this is just me, dealing with the fact that he won't call.

But still, you know how Lassie always comes home?
He was always the Lassie when it came to us.

God, I hope he stays the Lassie.
Even if it betrays everything else.
Even if I don't get anything else.
I hope he stays the Lassie.