Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing

by Matthew Perry

So, I will leave you first. I will fabricate in my mind that something went wrong with you, and I’ll believe it. And I’ll leave.

Because wherever you go, there you are.

Looking back, all I would have had to do was to tell someone about it, but that would mean I would have to stop. But stopping was not an option.

It was the right thing, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t sad.

I am no saint—none of us are—but once you have been at death’s door and you don’t die, you would think you would be bathed in relief and gratitude. But that isn’t it at all—instead, you look at the difficult road ahead of you to get better and you are pissed.

I don’t believe in half-assing things anymore. The path of least resistance is boring, and scars are interesting—they tell an honest story, and they are proof that a battle was fought, and in my case, hard-won.

Now when I wake up, I wake up curious, wondering what the world has in store for me, and I for it. And that’s enough to go on.

For years I thought I wasn’t enough, but I don’t feel that way anymore. I think I’m just the right amount.