All I can do is lie in bed, watching How I Met Your Mother and eat chocolate balls. Not even balls, to be honest. But I do it. I wake up, opens my eyes and breathes. People should be proud if that.
I am often wondering how other people not are here for me more. Why they’re not here feeding me, telling me I need to get up, I need to get outside or just drink and be miserable with me. Or just, you know, text me and ask how I am. Something like that.
But my best friend does, of course. He is here in every anxiety panic attack, he answers my texts in the middle of the night, he makes up games to distract me from sadness, he showers me, he takes me to sport events and he just holds me.
If he wasn’t here I so would have killed myself.
historiebok 