The distance between us

One thing I’ve felt almost consistently since this whole ordeal began is useless. The feeling ebbs and flows, but I can never truly banish it, not for long. It feeds off my insecurities, relishing in the doubts and anxieties I try to hide, reaching its acme in the hours before I visit him. Sometimes I almost let it win. Sometimes I believe it when it tells me that I’m worthless.

Yet still, every week, I board the train.

Evan and I are currently long-distance. We’ve lived apart for probably three years at this point, but it hasn’t been that bad in all honesty. It definitely took some getting used to – before he moved away we spent most nights together and though we both initially missed the intimacy, we made it work. I guess we didn’t really have much of a choice. Life had kinda gotten in the way and neither of us were ready to call it quits. So long-distance it was.

I moved a lot closer to Evan last year. I can almost manage to get to his house in an hour and three-quarters if I get really lucky with the trains and buses. It’s still not ideal, but it’s miles better than the five-hour train journey one of us had to endure in order to see the other a couple years ago.

It felt amazing to be so close, to get to see each other so much more.

Until the cancer diagnosis.

Sometimes the hour and three-quarters between us feels like it might as well be a million.

I’ve begun to doubt how useful I am right now. I can’t drive and the brain tumour means he can’t either, at least for a while. He lives in a dull little village in the middle of nowhere so I can’t take him out anywhere fun. I don’t have the funds to make his bucket list a reality and I’ve never been a great conversationalist. I’m not even very practical. If throwing up on the bathroom floor while peeling steri strips off his head proves anything, it’s that I’m not great with all the medical stuff.

And so I’ve believed it when the voice inside tells me I’m worthless.

But this piece doesn’t have a dreary end. Because every week I wait on the platform with my toothbrush and two clean shirts in my backpack. I drag myself out of bed even when I’d prefer to just sit alone in the darkness. I don’t know how to get rid of all the self-doubt; it still resides within me, but I know that I have to get up and keep going. I can’t let it win.

So what if I can’t single-handedly make all of Evan’s wishes and whims a reality? He still lights up when I knock on the front door. He can’t wait to show me how well he’s done on Football Manager or GeoGuessr since I saw him last. He’ll have something new he wants to watch together. When we sit on the couch, him with his legs propped up on my lap, I know all the worries I had will melt away. They’ll seem so stupid. I feel complete with him. Happy. I know he does too.

I can’t always be with him when he needs help or a hug, or just wants to hang out. The distance between us often feels immense and impassable. But it’s okay. There are some things that I just can’t do and I have to accept that. It doesn’t mean that I have nothing to offer.

My inability to drive doesn’t mean that we won’t have fun at his house. My lack of a bank account full of fuck you money doesn’t mean that we can’t cherish the little moments. My social problems don’t stop us enjoying each other’s company. My weak stomach might actually become a bit of a problem, but I’m not sure what I can do about that. Maybe get a sick bag.

I’m going to keep doing my best to ignore the doubts and fears, even when they feel overwhelming. I think they’re something I’m just going to have to live with for a while, but it’ll be okay. They don’t define me or my relationship with Evan. I’m going to keep spending all the time I can with him. Sure, there are some pretty big limits on what we can do, but being together makes a real difference. For both of us. We can deal with it all when we’re close enough to hold hands.

Sometimes I still feel useless.

But I know that’s not true.