v u l v a l i c i o u s
and hold my hand
Just. Come take care of me.
Put me to bed and sit beside me, read me a story. Pull down the thick volumes of Sherlock Holmes and pick one at random. Tell it to me til I fall asleep.
Wake me up with coffee and a kiss. Take me out to breakfast somewhere that we can sit and be leisurely. Get something we can both share. Trade plates halfway through.
Sit with me while I call doctors and try to get my mental health sorted. And when I've made appointments, put your hand on my neck and rub up into my hair and down into my shoulders, firm but sweet. Tell me I did a good job.
Take a walk with me and the dog. A longer one than usual, up to the park and back down again. Carry the water or hold the leash. Pick one.
Later I will make dinner. Taking care of me means letting me do that sometimes. Most of the time.
I'm just struggling right now. On edge. Barely making it. I don't know how to do better. And I need someone to help me. I don't know who, and I have no idea how I'd find them.
I need to put myself to bed now.