Tough Love

I took a taxi barefoot, in a nightgown.

I paid $17 to go home.

“You can’t come get me?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.”

I get it. I’m sure they’d say, “It’s tough love.”

But tough love doesn’t work for all of us. And tough love doesn’t work for all situations.

Because, while I sat outside the ER, bra-less, so sick I couldn’t see straight or stand, all I felt was even more split between this world and the next.

I feel like partĀ of me is already dead. Even if only the part of me that exists in the hearts and minds of others.

Jesus would’ve picked me up.