Pain

One individual I was so afraid to speak with due to my seeming inability to refrain from strangling attempts has, in fact, been most insightful.

Rachel and I....have our rocky history as frenemies, but within the past year she has been most decidedly a friend much, much more than an enemy.  Okay, so some other friends shared with Tristan and I things she supposedly said behind our backs, but I just confronted her about it and she did have valid points to reconsider.

Anyhow, I digress.

It seems she spoke with Tristan the night before he gave me the letter stating our separation.  Grilled, was the term she used.  Just to make sure he was fully cognitive of what he was deciding to do.

"You know why he did it?"

"I know what he told me," I answered her as we discussed the elephant in the room.  I have not gone fully public with these turn of events while Tristan was swift to announce it to his family and friends, such as Rachel.

"He was pretty lucid when I talked to him about it...and kind of irritated...."

I frowned.  "What did he tell you?"

"That you weren't being very supportive of [him] being in the hospital and that he needed to have people in his life that will help him get better and not tell him to 'fake getting better so he can get out of there'."

My heart dropped into my stomach.  An invisible sledgehammer slammed into my chest.  Rachel meant no ill will, I understand that.  I asked a question and she answered honestly, from what information he gave her.  The fact that THAT was what he told her....

I made one stupid comment in the midst of frustration with medical science and its inability to do anything (or so it seemed at the time).  What I meant to ask him was if he felt he had it in him to fight the entities that plague him and just ignore them as much as humanly possible, as had been done by many people in his same situation.  I missed him terribly but wanted him to get better, by any means necessary, and shoving the "voices" aside is one means.  What I wanted to know was if he thought he could potentially accomplish that.  What actually flew out of my mouth was, "Can't you just fake it so you can get out of here?"

Tristan looked at me in pure, insulted horror.  "I can't believe you just said that."

I couldn't either.  I was dumbfounded by the callous voice that popped out of my own mouth with such a horrible question.  After a moment's pause, and Tristan saying something in defense, I quickly and sincerely apologized.  Even my apology sounded like someone else's voice.  But it was still me.

Of course Tristan has no idea what I've been doing since the moment he was admitted into the hospital.  The people I've talked with, the ongoing rallying among prayer warriors for his healing.  An ENTIRE church is spreading the word like wildfire to pray and pray intensely for Tristan's full recovery and healing!  I have consulted more church leaders than I can count, I have reached out to ministers in various cities, I've even inspired non-Christians to start praying!  My workplace is humming with prayer for him.  The internet is humming with (anonymous) prayer for him.  And amidst all that, I have been consulting with financial planners to find a way to secure a safe home for us so he has a haven to feel comfortable and peaceful in.  I've rewritten my budget so we can have healthy groceries, I've ended unnecessary accounts, I fasted for three whole days in prayer to bind myself even closer to God so I can be a better person and a better companion for him!

And yet, I'm not supportive.

If I thought the universe was kicking my ass before, it just dealt a harder blow.  I feel like I could physically puke what little is in my stomach because, haha, I struggle to even find an appetite.

While everyone else scrambled for medicine to sedate him, I sought an actual cure.  I have been searching for people to help us pray, to plead with God for mercy and healing on his behalf.  I have been begging God night and day, even after Tristan broke it off with me, to spare him the horrors of what he's endured and to just let him live in peace.  To heal him.  To help him feel strong again.

To give him the best life imaginable, even if it means I'm not in it.

The pain is incredible.  And yet I still pray, I still plead with God, I still beg.

I love him, so much.  Doesn't that count for something?