jeans

i liked him immediately.

because he was honest.

and so, i was honest.

immediately.

and yes, we've spoken about ned.

because ned is the answer to so many questions: why am i not acting? why didn't i like juilliard? why and why and on and on.

and where honesty is concerned, ned cannot be avoided.

and the thing is, he doesn't get it. at all.

not. at. all.

and i love that. his lack of understanding.

because it makes me feel healthy. and normal.

and the thing is, it's not for him to understand.

not for anyone, really.

my parent's don't even get it. and they know me better than anyone. and they were there. and for them--because they must heal as well--the process of coming out of this illness is coming to terms with the knowledge that they will never understand. that this thing--this, what i jokingly call ned--is an untouchable part of me.

last night he commented that he's never seen me wear a pair of jeans.

and i mentioned that i don't own any.

and in that moment i realized this was the first of the small things that would reveal ned with a certain, tangible clarity.

i can talk about it all until i'm blue in the face and i can answer all of his questions and it will be... just... words, a lip-service.

but it is the absence of jeans, the fact that i haven't owned a pair in going on four years that will reveal what i cannot--that will give way to his first glimmer of understanding.

but it is not understanding of the disease so much as the understanding that he will never understand.

and this is the understanding i fear.

because today it is a pair of jeans. and tomorrow it is the absence of photos in the family album. and from there... well, from there... i just don't know.