lost in the dark

Dead D E A D dead ddd eee aaa ddd. Dead. Gone. Passed away. Moved on. In spirit. No longer with us. At Peace (who the hell’s at peace?). They all mean the same thing, you’re not coming home again. And I’m so afraid Rick. I’m so afraid I won’t make it through this. It’s like waking up in a pitch black room, and during your sleep, you got turned around.. You thought the door was over here, no that’s the closet. OK, so the door should be here then, no- that’s the wall. And you keep feeling along the wall, the whole time getting more and more panicked because nothing’s where it was and you can’t find your way out. That’s what I feel like. And I’m so afraid. so afraid that I won’t be able to find the door that will let me out of this dark place. What if I don’t find the door Rick, what then?

5:48 am

as the sun comes up I’m slowing down – so tired of running from the night. would be more logical to sleep. get the hardest part over with quickly.

do you

Rick- do you miss me? do you feel my touch when I hold your things? do you weave my dreams when I sleep on your pillow? or feel my heartbeat faster when I think of you? do you ever stand by the bed and watch me sleep? do you remember me? or us?

chasing exhaustion

working my ass off lately. so hot outside. my subconscious found a new plan to cope. the harder, hotter, and more manual the labor – the better. go, run, do- sleep as little as possible- then start again. chasing exhaustion. if the body’s too tired to move maybe the mind will follow.

I stopped by your house the other day. brought that last load of laundry home. and so begins another round of ‘to wash or not to wash’. one piece at a time. Looking for a part of you lingering on a T-shirt, jeans… surely you had to be there somewhere- I’m running out of places to look. two T-shirts still held your scent, so familiar, yet so distant and slipping further away. I ziplocked the T-shirts. ridiculous I know- but I don’t want the scent to fade. oh god, please don’t let that happen- it’s all I have left of him.

Open letter to readers

Open letter to readers:

I am not obsessed, consumed, nor am I living in the past. This journal is the one only place I could allow myself the luxury of emotion- one place I can yell, scream, cry, hate, wallow in depression, and curse the unfairness of death. Vent my anger and frustration and celebrate each small victory…

It may appear that I’m not healing – but I am. There has to be some place where the wounds remain open and bloody – or there is a danger of losing touch with the reason I started this fight in the first place.

Maybe I need this fight – something to tear into until the part I wouldn’t have made it through has passed.

Comment posted by
at 1/1/0001 12:00:00 AM

I fell over your web site whilst searching for something completely different.

It is a site that really touched my heart. I marvel at your strength and fortitude through the last 18 months. My, how you must love Ricky and his memory!

I’m sorry that I am not able to do more than offer my sympathy and respect.

Hang in there – it’s a long, lonely road but it’s worth every step…

Best regards

‘debvhu

still waiting

2:36 am – again. no one in my world but me and memories of you. Rick please help me. night after night – hour after hour I sit here in the dark
waiting
waiting
waiting
for you to come home.
and I’ll keep waiting
because it’s all I know.