i didn’t know this when i was a bit younger, but it is so important to be witnessed in our lives. she has witnessed me through health and through sickness, a lot of sickness actually — days when i can’t even get out of bed. it is difficult to have an invisible illness, but at least there is one person there to witness it all: the struggles, the immobility, the hopelessness, the fatigue. and during times when i am better, she’s there to notice how far i’d come along, how much i’ve fought, how long it’d taken. i tend to feel like nothing changes, and she reminds me everything has changed. when times are bad she tells me they are bad without flinching or sugar-coating, when times are good she tries to show me the colours of the world. the older i grow the more i realised what i need is not comfort, but someone who is willing to shoulder my truth and see me for who i truly am. i am broken in unspeakable ways, and yet she loves me unfathomably. 98 months later i still don’t understand how can this be, and she gently tries to explain to me for the nth time: i don’t see what she sees. being able to witness and accept someone’s truth is a great act of love, because the easier and much more common thing to do, is to deny, disregard, dismiss, in favour of comforting illusions. thank you my love for being my witness, because of you i know what i experience and who i am is real.