Unless you've been through it, you have no idea what it feels like. And unless you've loved such a person, you don't know anything about that either. 

As soon as I see his text, there is no other way to describe it than a burst of whatever brainchem that you get from a shot of what you desperately need. To say it's a relief is to fall far far short in language. I can breathe. I'm not the alchoholic, but that's why there is a program for people like me too, that's how addictive it is, and everybody around them should have gone through that program once enough to get it and have ongoing support (I go with trauma therapist anyways now always, but priests can work - somebody who knows about this). 

I can see from the spelling he's shaking. But it's day 3 now. Past the hairpin turn of day 2.

We'll be counting days this time. 

Can you imagine 365 days? In that time, if you do some version of full monty quit, such as telling Everybody, putting eyes on your self, out the silent suffering closet ya go (hey, you didn't transition, and even if you did 🖕), the right antidepressant so your junk works n you don't ideate beyond what is literarily necessary, vitamin B shots, vitamin D (+k) pills, therapy of some real kind ...  You really can't imagine 365 days in your body. You'll feel completely differently. And anything might happen. You might accidentally get kinda hung up on an ex whom your mom adores and try to perform soulcpr via dream fucking. And/or date therapy chickens (fish, goats, cats, a rescue horse), ya never know. Anything could happen!, z'all I'm sayin, the world's your oyster 🦪. At the very least, it could have oysters (or clams) in it potentially.