Letters to my best friend...

This fucking sucks, you are not in the house anymore. I look at your recliner when I pass it at night, and the pang hurts. I know you're just in the Wolf Den, but I got so comfortable with having you closer that I'm left feeling vulnerable now  I resist the urge to put Calli under my pillow again because there's no wolf ‘guarding the door'.

I'm not sure if you are reading this journal or not, but it seems whenever I expand on something here, you react to it in all ways, save today, I did not mention here how sleepless I wandered the house and stared at the empty chair in the living room until now. And now you stretch out in it, as ever, and slip off to Dreamland. I find myself once again struggling against the intrusive thoughts and desires. The tingle in my fingertips to touch what isn't mine. The desire for you to know more of me than just a smile; and yet not so familiar as to cross lines.

intrusive thoughts hit hard this afternoon, hubby was off at work, the bobbins were in their rooms oblivious to the rest of the house, and everyone else was gone. I fought down the urge to wander back to the Wolf Den to cuddle. I just wanted the company. No one would have been wiser, I could have spent some time being comfortable, and I had to fight the urge. And then you walked by to get a drink, and you stopped to scratch my head, and peace consumed me for a time, and then you walked off. It was like you knew my mood was off.

I want to trust you again, so I will. Distrusting you was shredding my spirit, and killing me by the word. My solution is just to accept that what you tell me is still true, despite hints otherwise. You are my Wolf, and you would not perhaps even could not lie to me.

Tonight you tried to make dinner, but the dog ate it, and for the first time, I saw you not react with anger. All I wanted to do in the moments that followed was hug you with pride. You were angry, but it wasn't clouded with alcohol. You were, in that moment, the man I've seen hiding in the shadows of rage, a man I could be proud of. I know the rage is still there, as are the wounds soul-deep; but today you've shown great improvement. In this moment, you've regained a measure of my trust, and gotten closer to reclaiming your keys and your truck.

you finally decided you were done drinking, for yourself. I like the sober you. Every day that you don't touch the firewater makes me proud of you, proud of you. Every slip draws a tear. You worry about that dream I had, talking into the void, about your debt being paid; but I heard a more promising message. I heard that something came to collect, and you paid the price, as much as they can collect, and now your future is open for you to enjoy. You tell me that you expect to be gone in a week (with three days already gone) and I'm hoping to prove you wrong. You're no longer living on borrowed time, you're living on your time.

Last night you asked that the family not tell others about what happened, unless you started the conversation, and we told you your laundry is safe with us. We're not in the habit of putting people on blast unless they do something silly or stupid. Personally, as much as I need to vent about it, I can't tell others because it will show my bias. I love you, in spite of what's happened. I ugly cried 3xs after getting off the phone with Torrin and C and J that night, inconsolable cried, curled in a ball around the weighted owl you bought me months back. Just when I thought I was done with the tears another round fell. I was so shaken and scared for you!! Not for me, but for you! I don't want to lose you like that! I don't want you going out, alone. I know one day you will go, no one lives forever no matter how deeply they're loved, but I want to lose you when you know you're loved. When those demons that whisper ‘you're alone’ have finally been silenced, yo...