This Crazy Life

I’m used to being alone.  In fact, I crave alone time a lot.  But what has become more and more obvious these past few months is just how alone I really am.  Last night a mom text me to check in on my daughter.  Our daughters were roommates for a brief period in residential and were friends.  So, I met the mom this way.  They have also struggled but their daughter is doing better.  I text her back, she text back, I text her back and crickets.  Nothing.  So, I have no idea.  Do these people just ask about my daughter to make themselves feel better about how their daughter is doing?  Do they ask because they want to know and then don’t know how to respond when she is in fact still extremely sick.  It’s just a very alienating feeling.  It’s not like I even went into grave detail.  I asked questions about their daughter.  I thought I was polite.  I thought I knew how to converse with people.  But I don’t know.  So instead of forgetting about the illness.  Instead of just living my life.  I laid in bed alone last night and cried.  Cried because no one understands this journey I’m on.  No one understands the fact that I’ve come to terms with the idea of my daughter dying young.  I don’t think she’ll ever graduate high school.  I don’t think she’ll ever drive.  I don’t think she’ll ever go to college or have a first job or get married.  I hope beyond hope that I’m wrong.  But my gut feels really strongly about this and I’m trying to prepare myself for the reality.  The reality that everything I ever dreamed of for my daughter is more than likely never going to happen.  It’s been taken away by one sneaky, sneaky, disease.  One disease that I never, ever anticipated having an effect on my daughter, on my family, on myself like this.  A disease that has no cure.  A disease that has an extremely high mortality rate.  A disease that has a very low actual full recovery rate.  Anorexia can go kick rocks.  And if anyone wants to be my friend.  Not to even talk about eating disorders with.  Just my friend to life with.  I am game.  It’s my birthday for crying out loud and I’m sitting here (alone) crying.