I am hollow.
I can barely hold my head up this weekend. I can't think. My brain is a sieve. Thoughts fall apart and fall through.
Maybe it's because Greg's garage and workshop are being dismantled this weekend- his things separated into piles for disposal. I know it has to happen, but I hate the thought of it.
Scott stopped on his way home from Amy's. It wasn't a long visit - but it was a good one. It's helpful to me when he and Richard are honest - when they tell me how they feel - how their day went - what thoughts they have about... everything. Again, he amazes me.
After Scott leaves, it all hits me again - and again, I fall apart. For the second time, I am sure they are going to take me away in a straight jacket - or worse.
I don't want pity - I don't want to be a weight. I hate people staring at me when I cry. Michael tries to help, but no one can help. I hate being a spectacle.
I run to the bathroom, sobbing, shaking, barely able to see - and lock the door behind me. I sob violently and pound the walls with my fists. Time has no meaning. 15 minutes? Half an hour? 45 minutes? An hour? I have no idea.
Eventually, I'm able to leave the bathroom, still crying, grab my phone and call Richard. He lives the closest. Maybe he will come - but he doesn't answer. I know he's at the pool with his family - no phone. I'm partially relieved. If he knew I needed him, he'd come. But what could he do if he were here?
Michael stays close - brings me some water. I'm shaking too hard too drink it. He talks to me and offers me water again. This time I'm able to take a sip. My heart is pounding - I can feel the arrhythmia - but I think the crisis is over.
Richard calls and I'm determined to hold myself together, but it doesn't go well. He asks me questions to find how to help me, but I have a hard time stringing two thoughts together. I'm scattered - disjointed - frustrated - desperate to explain what I can't. I can't think - can't make a decision about anything. I feel like an infliction. He offers to come to my house, but I know I'm going to be gone again and I don't want him to see it - or hear it.
As soon as I hang up, the tears flow again. I hate this. I hate the pain. I hate the tears. I hate the sounds I make. I hate - myself.
My sweet son is dead. How can I possibly communicate to anyone how this feels.
I can barely hold my head up this weekend. I can't think. My brain is a sieve. Thoughts fall apart and fall through.
Maybe it's because Greg's garage and workshop are being dismantled this weekend- his things separated into piles for disposal. I know it has to happen, but I hate the thought of it.
Scott stopped on his way home from Amy's. It wasn't a long visit - but it was a good one. It's helpful to me when he and Richard are honest - when they tell me how they feel - how their day went - what thoughts they have about... everything. Again, he amazes me.
After Scott leaves, it all hits me again - and again, I fall apart. For the second time, I am sure they are going to take me away in a straight jacket - or worse.
I don't want pity - I don't want to be a weight. I hate people staring at me when I cry. Michael tries to help, but no one can help. I hate being a spectacle.
I run to the bathroom, sobbing, shaking, barely able to see - and lock the door behind me. I sob violently and pound the walls with my fists. Time has no meaning. 15 minutes? Half an hour? 45 minutes? An hour? I have no idea.
Eventually, I'm able to leave the bathroom, still crying, grab my phone and call Richard. He lives the closest. Maybe he will come - but he doesn't answer. I know he's at the pool with his family - no phone. I'm partially relieved. If he knew I needed him, he'd come. But what could he do if he were here?
Michael stays close - brings me some water. I'm shaking too hard too drink it. He talks to me and offers me water again. This time I'm able to take a sip. My heart is pounding - I can feel the arrhythmia - but I think the crisis is over.
Richard calls and I'm determined to hold myself together, but it doesn't go well. He asks me questions to find how to help me, but I have a hard time stringing two thoughts together. I'm scattered - disjointed - frustrated - desperate to explain what I can't. I can't think - can't make a decision about anything. I feel like an infliction. He offers to come to my house, but I know I'm going to be gone again and I don't want him to see it - or hear it.
As soon as I hang up, the tears flow again. I hate this. I hate the pain. I hate the tears. I hate the sounds I make. I hate - myself.
My sweet son is dead. How can I possibly communicate to anyone how this feels.
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