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Things were different now for Sasha.
Things weren’t perfect. Not by any stretch. But they were better.
She still couldn’t feel one side of her face and she still couldn’t see out of one of her eyes, but her other eye had adjusted, and she no longer ran into walls while turning corners or smacked herself in the face while putting her hair up. Not perfect, but better.
She still couldn’t bring herself to go to the cliff sides of the beaches Anne and Marcy loved to picnic at, the top floor of any building, glass elevators, and even using step ladders was too much for her sometimes. But her girlfriend, Anne, was 5’11 to her 5’5 and always got things from high shelves for her. She couldn’t use certain items that were up top if Anne wasn’t around, so she would have to wait, but she never pressured her into pushing herself past her limits. Things weren’t perfect, but better.
She still spiraled when things were out of her control, but she was able to take a step back. Think. Breathe. And make a list of things that were in her control just like her therapist had told her. She still had days where even that wasn’t enough, but those days were less and less, and she never harmed anyone in the process anymore. Not perfect, but better.
She still had days when she couldn’t get out of bed. No matter how hard she tried, she would just lay there, staring at the ceiling and feeding the gnawing pain in her chest with thoughts of running far far away, because how could she possibly deserve all that she had? Days where she would spend hours laying there in her pajamas and crumpled sheets, feeling her body get sweaty and hair developing knots that would take forever to brush out as she thrashed around, crying and screaming until her throat grew raw. But on days like that, Anne would still be there. She would walk through the door with a soft “Oh Sash…” and brush her sweaty bangs out of her eyes, caressing her face, and kissing the scar that ran from her left eyebrow, across her eye, and ending all the way down at the corner of her mouth. She would hold her as she whimpered and cried into her chest, snot freely dripping from her nose, mixing with the tears already on Anne’s sweater. And then she would draw her a bath or wrap her up in blankets on the couch, never leaving her side for as long as it took for her to feel whole again. Anne never left. Even when she physically left the room to make her soup to soothe her aching throat and empty stomach, Sasha would sit on the couch and listen to the sound of the knife chopping veggies, cabinets opening and closing, and the sound of Anne softly singing whatever bad top 40s song was currently playing nonstop on the radio. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For her to suddenly realize how evil she truly was and walk out the door, never to return.
But she never did. Instead, she sat down next to her, handing her a bowl of soup made with love and care, and gave her a soft smile and a quick kiss before telling her to eat up.
Things weren’t perfect. But they were better.