Hemorrhage.

A year and a half had changed a lot of things between us. A year and a half had changed a lot of things in general. I felt only the tiniest bit like the person that I was back then. So many things about me had changed, both physically and emotionally. Physically, I was healthier. Heavier. Heartier. All of those words that start with ‘h’ that make you feel good about yourself. I had slowly gained enough weight back to be considered in my healthy zone, and now the goals were just to maintain that weight. I’d also done all kinds of rebellious things to my appearance, including dyeing my hair, piercing my nose, and getting a tattoo. Mentally, I was a stronger person. I wasn’t meek or feeble anymore. I’d been through enough to know that I couldn’t let people walk over me just because I was fragile.

Things with John and I had changed so much as well. At first, things were good. Amazing, even. We were practically inseparable, always in contact with each other in some way. While that had been what I needed at that time, eventually things started to get a little tense and suffocating. Thus began, as Molly likes to refer to it, The Rough Patch That Almost Killed Everyone in 2009. After a huge blowout, John and I stopped talking for two and half weeks. I slept at my mom’s house, avoided just about everyone, and hid under the covers like a child, pretending that the world around me didn’t exist. Needless to say, that time apart sucked, but it also got us both thinking.

I loved John. That much had always been obvious, even in the beginning, but in our relationship we needed to set boundaries. I didn’t need someone stepping on my feet to make sure that I ate properly or slept enough. I just needed someone to take out the garbage or change the light bulbs when they went out. I needed someone to hold me when I was cold and to distract me when I was upset. I needed someone to love me back.

After an awkward hour of trying to dissect our feelings and lay them all out on the table, we figured it out. After two weeks of “space”, we were back to living together, but this time there was a more comfortable air between us. I don’t know. Maybe it was some new found epiphany that we had to back the fuck up, or maybe it was just a realization that I wasn’t so delicate anymore. Whatever it was, it worked. We worked.

Life was good. Ish. I was still surrounded by stress constantly. I still occasionally caught my reflection in some kid’s sunglasses and felt my stomach drop. I still wondered why the hell John had picked me. But I was coming closer to accepting things as they happened, rather than worrying.