I felt much more human after all of the pampering and beautification. I’m not a shallow person. However, after several months of wearing workout clothes, no bra and sneakers, it felt nice to be gussied up. It felt nice now. Then I remembered why I’m all gussied up.
Going to the hospital.
My heart fell to my feet.
In and out.
You are safe.
You’d think after nearly two months of therapy, a lot of journaling and increase in my dosage for my anti-depressants and my anti-anxiety pills, I’d be able to walk into the hospital. Nope. Not so much. I did, however, know that Edward was having it worse than me. When I finally stopped and looked at someone other than myself, I saw him. Really saw him. He was gaunt, thin, nervous, terrified and worried. I had flashbacks and occasional nightmares. Edward had night terrors. I knew when it was really bad for him when I felt his arms banded around me, clinging to me so tightly that I thought he’d break my healing ribs. His sobs at night broke my heart.
I knew I pushed him away. I needed him like the air that I breathe but my fucked up head felt like he was going to dump my ass. It took until I had fallen in the tub to finally see that he was in it for the long haul. I mentally berated myself for shutting myself off from him, but I knew we’d make it. After that night, things improved, exponentially. My nightmares dwindled and Edward managed to sleep through the night without having a night terror. Instead, we were cuddled in each other’s arms, happy to be with each other.