Izzy & Noah

Fifty-One: Open Up and Talk to Me

After all, she is about to lose someone else, someone she raised, someone she loved with all her heart, someone with whom she healed her wounds after the loss of her daughter.

Tears are natural. And even though it's hard for me, I hug her and hold her close. Because I think so.

Although I was never hugged when I cried, I promised myself I would not be the type to help people when they were in trouble.

Beth feels like I've known her all my life. I notice Noah watching us.

He just watches in silence.

I put her down and cross my arms over my chest. I close. As I open, so I close.

I'm getting more and more restless inside, more and more I feel I have to get out, that it's choking me. I'm on the verge of a panic attack.

I excused myself and went to my room. This situation is imminent.

Both Noah and Beth look at me a little strangely.

But I can't.

I'm too emotional. There are too many emotions in me, too many memories, too many things that shouldn't be, that I thought I'd forgotten.

I close the door and sit down on the bed.

" Dear life, why are you so unfair? "I ask aloud.

Their relationship is based on pure love and support.

Me and mum.

Mum and me.

Father, who is gone.

In life you always have family and only true friends.

What's left for me?

Katy.

One of the few people who stands by me, even though I don't think I deserve her, that it's not right for her to be with me, that she's, my friend.

Every relationship I've had has failed because I stopped trying, but so have others.

They say it takes two for a relationship, that it is not enough for one friend to try, the other has to try too, write to someone, call someone.

At a time when everything is accessible, when we have the opportunity, this is the least we can do.

And so, some relationships have broken down, we were just acquaintances who crossed our lives, taught us something, perhaps enriched us, and left.

Silence in the flat.

Someone knocks at the door.

I'm still sitting. I stand up and open the door.

"Are you all, right? It looked to me like you were about to have a panic attack." Noah asks me.

"I am now. Sorry again, but the wave of emotions has not passed me yet." I reply.

"Beth understands that you are going through a lot, that sometimes it is too much even for one person," he says, pushing me into the room and closing the door.

"It's hard because I remember my family, all the memories come back somehow. Everywhere I go I see their outlines, their traces. But I know it'll never be the same, even if we rebuild the relationship, it won't be what it was. ˝ I say thoughtfully and look out of the window.

It's evening.

In a few hours I'll be back at work and back in therapy, which isn't helping.

But therapy is not a hundred-metre sprint. Therapy is more like a marathon.