Alive

I didn’t sleep well last night. Finally, at 4 am, I got out of bed and took a bath. I looked at my body, and I saw all of my ribs and hip bones. I saw a collarbone you can grab with your entire fist, and knobby shoulders and concaves and hollows where there shouldn’t be.
I see these things every day, but this time, I really saw it.

I shouldn’t be so tired all the time, so broken. I’m 24, and my lungs barely work. I’ve done this all to myself.

And then I cried. A lot.
And then I prayed. A lot.

And I got out of the bath and crawled back into bed with Brandon, wriggled into his arms.
“What’s up, Babe?"
And I say
“I’m scared.”
and
"I don't want to be sick anymore."

And he pulls me closer to him, by his neck, tucked just under his chin, where I fit just right. He traces circles on my back with his fingers, and I can feel him there, his warm pervasive presence, his solidity, his vitality, and I can breathe just a little easier, literally, because I know that I am safe.

And finally, for the first time in awhile, I feel a little bit more alive.