Dear Present Moment,

I hope you end soon.

Right now, I’m staring at my phone, waiting for my blood sugar to go up. I thought this evening would improve after I parked my car and cried. I had to pull over on my drive home tonight due to a panic attack brought on by a call from my doctor.

The news from the call was net neutral. My doctor has more paperwork to fill out in another attempt for my insurance to approve my insulin pump. In the meantime, she has a free one she’s willing to give to me. But I have to call out sick from work and drive an hour each way to pick it up this week. Work is busy. Too busy for me to feel comfortable calling out sick. But I need my pump. And I need my job so I can have insurance that will deny my pump.

But insurance that can deny my pump is still better than no insurance at all.

My insurance at least covered the antibiotics to help my sinus infection go away. I don’t know if I’m correct, but I think the sinus infection was brought on because I dared to breathe the fresh air in Los Angeles after the rain this past week. I guess the air wasn’t clear enough from the fires that have been raging for the past month in my home.

I keep trying to enjoy you. People tell me you’re beautiful, that you’re to be enjoyed. But every time I try, something happens. I make plans to see a concert and I become an impatient then I’m selling that ticket from my itchy hospital bed.

I try to flirt with a boy I like. I dress up cute for the next time I’ll see him. I find out from a friend that he bailed because he went on a date with someone else.

Things will get better, I tell myself. They seem to for other people. I know that not everyone always enjoys you––that’s the nature of your existence. But it seems like other people think you can be fun and joyful. I haven’t found you to be that way.

I’ve wondered sometimes if I’m the problem in our relationship. I know I think of myself too much. I re-read this letter and realize how many sentences start with “I.” I hate that I start so many sentences with “I,” but I often don’t know how else to start them.

Maybe I can try starting sentences with “you.” You have brought me moments of happiness and those moments are savored. They’ve been photographed and taped to my wall. Most of them aren’t good. Faces are blown out, limbs are blurry, bodies are cut off. You look so beautiful in them.

You can be so lovely and so wonderful. However, that leads me to question if we’re in an abusive relationship. Most days you make me so unhappy. But there are moments of reprieve when you bring me so much joy, I can forgive you a hundred times over for all the pain I have felt in your presence.

My friend is coming to visit later this week. Will you please have mercy on this visit? Will you please be the gentle partner I know you’re capable of being? Will you not interfere with your sickness and destruction that you can so effortlessly bring?

My head keeps turning behind and ahead, desperate to learn your past lessons so that I may have a peaceful future. I find myself living in moments past and planning for moments to come. After all the pain of the past, I cannot bear to look you straight on.

If I raise my gaze to meet you, will you please be gentle with me in this moment? Can we sit together peacefully, maybe even hold hands? Please. Just give me a fucking break.

All the best,
Mel

ProWritingAid Style Score: 81%