I was fine, before we met.
I know you won’t believe me (you never believed me when I claimed to be fine) but I was okay.
I was wading through the monotony of life with a wry smile, an ironic arch of an eyebrow and a cynical laugh. I may not have been happy, as such, but I was content. Bored; neither happy nor sad.
I was okay.
Sure, I was scared – I still am, more than ever – and maybe I was a bit too reluctant to let my guard down, to let people in. I always assumed they’d hurt me, or I would crush them. Either way, it would end up in tears.
(And wasn’t I right about that, in the end?)
It was, and to this day remains, one of the biggest risks I have taken. For once, I didn’t spend hours weighing up the pros and cons, the potential for disaster over that which I would gain. (I wonder, if I had, if I would have simply walked away.) Instead, as chiched as it is, I let myself fall.
I was happy. I know you doubted this, but you made me happy. Or, at least, as happy as I’d let myself be – I was still convinced, at that point, that I simply wasn’t meant to be happy. That I could never be truly happy.
But looking back on those days, I was happy. I laughed and smiled more than I had in years, and I opened up and told you my fears and my hopes and I was honest. I stopped putting on the mask that I had grown so accustomed to wearing, and I let down the barriers that had defended me for years.
Sure, there were bad times too - days when I would wake up and be unable to feign a smile, unable to stop the tears, but I knew that I could let you witness this side of me. I knew that you’d just hold me and help me through.
So what I am trying to say, I guess, is that I was fine before I met you. And I am fine now that I don’t know you at all. And for a while, in between, I was happy. And no matter what, I am grateful for that.