I dreamt of you again last night. And when I woke up it was as if you had died afresh. Every day I find it harder to bear. For what point is there in life now?… I look at our favourites, I try and read them, but without you they give me no pleasure… it is impossible to think that I shall never sit down with you again and hear you laugh. That every day for the rest of my life you will be away.
It has been almost five months since I began my passage of grief, almost eclipsing the period of time I am supposed to be grieving over. When examined in those terms it seems insignificant, but that passage of time was the most significant time in my life. That is scary because I feel I didn’t and do not deserve that time, as if I was not worthy of it. Its quick demise is the irrefutable proof of this fact.
These months of grief have been the most selfish period in what has been (up to this point) an extraordinarily selfish life. Life out of necessity has always been on my terms. My extreme anger and sadness has compounded this exponentially. I’m sorry world, but I just don’t have the energy to deal with anybody, anything or anyone right now. It may have been five months, but I am exhausted at just having to survive this. I don’t know how long this will last. It already feels like forever and it probably will continue on forever, because no matter how much I try nothing seems to make it any better.
It is a chore to venture outside the semi comfort of my room, where I constantly reside. In all honesty nothing feels comfortable anymore, it is simply degrees of pain: what I can tolerate and what I cannot. Experts say that I need some form of social interaction: those few around me are pushing for this particularly, and it is for them I try on a limited scale. For me though I am not and never will be a social person. If I had the choice I just want to hide with only my wits to keep me company, and become even more selfish if that is possible. I do not wish to add to my discomfort any further.
I’m sorry, I really am.
The only way I can treat this is like a death, even though it isn’t really. There’s no set textbook for what I have. I cannot label it, although I keep trying to because it is really the only way I can comprehend what is happening to me. I figure I am far more crippled emotionally than I am physically. The loss of the most meaningful relationship I have had outside my family has rendered me an emotional corpse. I thought I had more strength than this, but this proves I do not. While life continues on around me, each day becomes harder and more painful like a knife stabbing into a fresh wound that never heals it just continues to grow larger.