Stall 2

Chapter 37.

“And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand...
I did not understand.”

Song: Suicide Note - Johnette Napolitano 

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I fell asleep with Harry curled up to me by about 2am, and it felt different than other nights. It didn’t just feel like he was close to me for comfort or affection, it was like he wanted protection from that invisible ghost that haunted him.

A child scared of the monster under their bed.

I couldn’t help how heavy my heart felt laying there with him, knowing that he’d had to lock us in here just so he felt like he could sleep tonight. It was a reminder of the profound effect what happened to him still has, and how deeply what his father did and the fear of that is still very present.

Harry has made a lot of progress, but this doesn’t all magically go away; even if he’s had a few good days or even months. That pain is still there. It still hurts him.

I can’t make it go away. All I can do is just let him know I'm there and that he's not alone and that is really fucking hard to accept.

You feel helpless.

I was so exhausted after the club, and everything that had happened, plus the mental exhaustion from the past few weeks was catching up with me.

I was fast asleep before long once we were finally settled in bed, and I felt like Harry had somewhat relaxed against me. I did what I always do, kept him close, ran my fingers through his hair and comforted him any way I could.

I know it may not seem like much, what happened tonight when he asked me to distract him in that bathroom and sure it wasn't the best coping mechanism. 

It's the fact he was honest, though. The fact he tried to describe what was going on with him. The fact he didn't default straight to self destructive. And thinking about the fact he has taken enough steps to try and look for other options when he was feeling that is huge for him; and he will stumble along the way, just like I will.

He's consistently trying to figure out how to make better choices, the best way he knows how.

It may not seem like progress, but it is. The more he practices the better he will get at it.

We're both trying to figure out who we are, we aren't going to make the best choices 100% of the time and we are going to screw up. That is one of the few things I'm certain of.

The fact that all he did tonight was drink with friends, had sex and came home, even though he locked his door is leaps and bounds compared to a year ago.

To be perfectly honest, even wanting to do better is a step forward for him. Trying, even if you fail is progress.

And I'm sure next year, it will be easier, the more he practices and searches for help, he will keep going forward until he can be at that place where it doesn't affect him like this.

I don't think we are out of the woods yet, by any means, and this serves as a sobering reminder that even on those days when he has that bright smile that lights up his eyes; there's wounds still wide open in him that will rear their vicious head until they are healed.

To be honest, he handled it better than I thought be would.

I'm thankful I've got this appointment late in the afternoon with the Steves friend because heaven knows I need some kind of guidance.