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When someone I know and care about is sick, it is very difficult to be angry at said person for being sick. To be otherwise seems inhuman. I was angry, because I didn't really understand the way in which this person is. I was told. Too little too late, it seems. I've spent all week reading about it, and like the blind man whom Jesus healed, my eyes were opened, and it all made sense. Everything. Every late night chat and call and text. Every miscommunication. Everything I misunderstood. Every piece of information. Every emotion.

I denied it at first, which hurt the other. I shouldn't have done that. I knew the other was right at the time, but I didn't have enough experience, despite previous dealings with people in that frame. Not enough experience. Contradiction is perhaps the worst thing one can do. I simply did not want to believe it.

And then, despite my best efforts, I went on exacerbating the situation.

I'm not angry at the other. I'm not very angry at me. I'm just here.

I don't know how Lewis felt, precisely. But I agree. It does feel like fear.

No comments. Don't bother me.

Update:

"No toffee now. But when you've grown up and don't really want toffee you shall have as much as you choose."