Holding On To You

This is part two of the writing assignment I posted the other day.     Warning: mention of suicide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The alarm goes off and I feel her pull away from my arms. Each morning the same thing. I pretend to still be asleep even though I know, she knows I’m awake. I guess it just makes me feel better about the whole thing. Because honestly, it tears me apart. Each morning its the same thing, same routine. Wake up, criticize every part of her body, and then step on that goddamn scale. I love that girl to bits, but it kills me to see the way she treats herself. You could point to any feature and she could tell you what bugs her about it. I couldn’t disagree more! She’s absolutely gorgeous.

She has the most vibrant green eyes I have ever seen, they’re hypnotizing. She has freckles lightly sprinkled across her entire face. She hates them, but I think the usual ‘cheek and nose’ freckles are over-rated. She has the cutest little mouth that hasn’t been tortured by that stupid Kylie Jenner shit. And her nose… is perfect if you ask me. She absolutely hates it more than anything but I like it, and she wouldn’t be the same person without it. And it is no where near the size she tells people.

I think that what she does is similar to something we’ve probably all done. Have you ever said a word and then really thought about it for a bit? I mean really thought about it. And then you start repeating it to yourself ver and over, and after a while it doesn’t sound like a word anymore. That’s what she does to herself in the mirror. So much so, that what she sees starts to get distorted. The longer she stares in the mirror, the more ‘imperfections’ she finds. To the point where now all she sees are the ‘imperfections’. I’m not even sure if she recognizes herself anymore.

I used to get up at the same time. I used to follow her into the bathroom. I used to try to help change the way she looks at herself. But that clearly didn’t work.

About two years ago she was diagnosed with depression after several suicide attempts. I’m still not sure if she knows how hard that was on me. It was just as much of a rough patch for me as it was her. I love her, and to think that someone I care about that much could feel that bad is terrifying. Of course I blamed myself, and I’ve slowly learned that, that was not the case. But it still hurts to know that I could possibly be laying here alone, without her.

It was a wake up call for both of us. Clearly there were some changes that needed to be made. So instead of pestering her in the morning about something I am obviously not able to change, I figured it’d be better to use that energy elsewhere. I try to give her more attention when we go out, or even just sitting at home. I try to acknowledge her as much as possible. I guess in my mind I hope that if she’s aware that people do notice her and would notice if she was gone, it might help. I know I can’t fix everything, but I can’t risk the chance of something happening again. All I want to do is help. There’s no way that one person can handle everything she’s going through by themselves. And I can’t lose her!

It’s been about ten minutes, so I push the covers away and walk towards the bathroom. She’s just stepping off the scale as I walk in. I stand behind her and squeeze her tight, hopefully another reminder. I give her a quick kiss on the cheek before handing her, her toothbrush. I look over at those two bright green eyes that stand out against her tired face. I reply with a smile, making her giggle.

I guess I hold her so tight because I never want those green eyes to stop smiling at me.

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