"You're wishin' too much, baby. You gotta stop wearing your wishbone where your backbone oughta be.”
-

it's been almost three days since i last stumbled across the prozac pills on her table. seriously, if i didn't, i think she wouldn't have told me about it at all. perhaps it's my fault too, for not noticing, always taking her for granted.

ignorance is bliss, no? because where ever i go now, there's a dark cloud hovering above me. some kind of uneasiness, a shadow. i find myself wondering what she's doing, how she's feeling, a thousand questions running through my head over and over again, but never finding the answers. it's almost a torture, not knowing the reasons, she's not telling. i don't know if it's work-related, or is it us?

it makes me shudder to think, how close this whole episode could come to pass without me ever knowing. i never saw the changes in her behaviour until after i knew, and really, i feel terrible. she became so quiet and i didn't notice, so subdued. and how she never asks us to go on walks with her anymore, she just leaves the house quietly, alone.

and even with this knowledge, what have i done about it? nothing. what can i do? everytime i see her i feel awful. i don't know what to say. sometimes i want to ask her out with me but then i don't know how i should treat her, or if the doctor allows her to go out at all. it's terrible, i feel like she's a complete stranger to me, so dark, so puzzling, and this feeling isn't going to help me help her at all.

all this emotional stress has also taken its toll on me. somehow i'm more intolerant now, as soon as i hear a tinge of impatience or anger or whatever negative feelings in anyone's voice, the uneasiness which is hiding inside surfaces, sweeping over me like a tidal wave, forcing me to tears sometimes. it's so irrational, it doesn't even have anything to do with me but somehow it just tips me off the edge.

i know she's trying her best not to make us worried. when we speak, she's the one who laughs the loudest, smiles the widest. but there's a hint of artificiality in it, something forced.

wish i could do something to help other than think. but now, i talk even less to her than when she was normal, because i'm so afraid i'll say the wrong thing. all i can do these days, is snuggle next to her ever so quietly at night, like when i was a little girl, and hope that she'll somehow read my mind.

she's gonna be alright. because God will make a way.