HANGING IN THERE? NO. FLAILING? MAYBE. GRASPING AT STRAWS? DEFINITELY.

The past couple of months haven’t been great, those of you who know, KNOW. But there’s a lot no one knows, not even me, to some extent. Denial? Self-deception maybe? I’ve always, well, not always, but for the most part, interacted with the world through words. I’ve had the pleasure of knowing what it feels like to start writing and something takes over and it flows. Words become sentences, become paragraphs, become stories, become beautiful thing that make me feel other beautiful things.

I haven’t felt that in a while, doing this takes more work than it used to. There are a lot of unwritten paragraphs in my head that I am afraid won’t ever make it out. And why would they even? I don’t know. A lot of the things I thought I knew I don’t know anymore. I wish I could explain it better, it’s so frustrating not being able to, you know? This horrible huge thing happened to me and not only am I supposed to make sense of it, I also need to be able to communicate it somehow?

Some days I can’t pick up the phone because, and say what? I don’t have shit to say. There’s nothing to report other than the fact that I’m barely getting by. So fucking uninspiring. I resent having to say this shit that’s been happening because and then what? You know? But I’m not supposed to say that anymore, I’m supposed to focus on the positive stuff and find a way to make it through next week, but first this week. That’s why I can’t write right now, because there’s a whole lotta people hoping and praying that I get better. But the shit I write isn’t better. It’s not going to make anyone any less deader, it's not going to cure motherfucking cancer. I am a lot of things and even if all of this sounds suicidal, it's not. I am afraid of it being misinterpreted and damn it I can’t post it anywhere because I’m not sure they’ll all understand. Even I don’t understand.

I had such an inflated sense of self, I used to think that all the shit I wrote was so precious, I was the voice of something. That all seems so far away now, like a sappy fairy tale I read once that was trying too hard. Maybe it was a phase, a part of my life that I mistook for my identity. Like all things, it was passing but I was too caught up in the moment to see. Can you read between the lines now? Do you like what you see? I don’t know how to make it better, or even how to want to, so I’ve decided to let the professionals have a shot at it. There’s parts that are me though, the ones that only I know, except I don’t know actually, I'm afraid I'm not making sense. I worry about everything. I’m taking some pills, hopefully that helps. I’m talking to some people periodically, hopefully I’ll be there for that. I go out, and do things, stay sober.

I’ve been experiencing the world through quotes too, people that have found ways to name these things that boggle my mind. I leave you with a quote from one of them: “ For some folks who lose people, it can be a real challenge to keep them alive. They heal quickly and get on with their lives and feel terrible for it. For others it’s almost as hard to keep them dead, they won’t leave them alone the rest of their life. It’s love and grief, baby. There are no rules.”… “you loved him at the time he died, right? Love sets at moments like that. Grief hopefully fades, and memory, eventually, but love?...”

I love you. It makes me feel crappy that the first time I’m saying that you is post-humus. I have this nagging feeling that I should learn from that, but that’s not the point. There’s a couple things that if I truly believed would help. Like the thing I learnt in physics about energy not being able to be destroyed. It would help to believe that you existed and so you’re here and you can somehow read these words as I type them. I don’t really believe that. Life and death isn’t something I’m close to wrapping my mind around.

They were here, living, breathing and something happened and they’re not anymore. It doesn’t matter whether you saw it coming or if it wasn’t in your list of 1000 worst case scenarios that you could come up with before someone finally told you what had happened. It would help if I believed in heaven and that I’ll get to see you again if I play my card right. It would help if I believed in reincarnation and a month or so ago, a baby was born somewhere and you’re getting on with your next life, no point crying over someone who is crying cuz of colic somewhere, right? Or maybe none of that would have helped, who knows? People will say anything to make themselves feel less shit. I’m people. I feel like crap when it really comes down to it. I feel like I failed at a whole lot of things and it sucks because that’s not the point. I hate how much I am making this about me when it's not really. or at least it isn't entirely. Fuck.

 

Have you been crying? Not nearly enough, but what I say out loud is yes, because I know that’s what I’m supposed to say. Anything else feels like I’ll be forced to talk about my grief more. I don’t want that because I know what people will say, they’ll say rational things that makes sense. Shut the fuck up, this whole thing doesn’t make any sense. I just want to feel all of it, let it wash over me sometimes. If I wrote it all down it would mostly be one irrational thought after the other. Having people point that out would feel like having parts of my grief stolen. Most of it is “what ifs” and plans and my imagination. If I have to cling on to reality you stop being mine and become mostly other people’s. It’s fucked up and I don’t want anyone talking about it because, fuck.