The Hiatus


My dearest Zach,

It has been over a year since I last wrote, but mere seconds since I last thought of you.  One year ago I posted saying that I was going to do better, write more, process more, handle my grief.  The exact opposite has happened.

A year ago I lost my voice, my ability to speak.  I lost the ability to process what I was going through.  I lost my words to you, which were the only thing keeping me functioning.  A year ago I succumbed to the weight of my grief and everything just stopped.

Three months ago my best friend begged me to write something.  Anything.  One sentence.  She saw, she recognized the darkness that had taken over me.  She knew I was giving up and that if I wasn’t talking to her about what was going on and I was not writing then something was wrong.

It has taken me this long to take her advice and to write something….. anything.

Was something wrong? Worse? Worrisome? I don’t know.  All I know is everything just stopped.  I didn’t know how to describe what I was feeling or thinking anymore.  Not that I stopped feeling or thinking, but it was almost as if my brain threw its hands up in frustration and said, “Well I don’t know WHAT will fix this!!”

I still don’t know where to start, but I recognize the need to return to my feeble attempt at processing my extreme grief.  It isn’t getting better.  It isn’t fading away.  It lives with me every single moment of every single day like a cancerous tumor eating away at my very existence.

I lost my words, my voice, my ability to process….. but I am still grieving.

So this is my prayer to you, my desperate plea.  Help me to find my voice.  Help me to find my words because I can not continue this way.

The Darkness

Seeing no way out from a life heavy with a lack of light.
Begrudgingly starting every day.
Every single day I regret being silent to those who have come to this blog to read my words and have found help or comfort through them.
Wish I could laugh in the face of every person who has said it will get better one day because all I feel is the overwhelming sense of sinking deeper.
Unsure of where I fit or belong.
Not part of anything yet surrounded by all the things I should be.
No longer able to put into words how I feel.
Hate myself for the inability to function.
Living proof that it is a myth to take it one day at a time and things will get better.
The thought of breathing it all in makes me choke on the misery.
Not at all doing what I am supposed to be doing or living the life I should be living.
Unable to be there for the people who love me or be part of their lives like I once was.
Getting what needs to be done every day is a daily battle barely won.
My original goal of helping others through my words and experience with grief has failed since losing my ability to write.
My heart beats for you with miserably unattainable desire.
Constantly questioning why it was you, not me.
Everyone’s lives seem to be coming together in such a perfect loving way while I am trapped in this dismal cage.
This is the life I have been given and I wish I could return to sender.
The daily motions that must be gone through quickly grow tedious.
Nothing seems to bring joy or relief or brief moments of clarity.
Master of the mask.
Faking it has no longer become an option, just reality.
Struggling to remember the last time I was happy and woke up excited for something to happen.
I am totally unable to forget and move on even though people tell me I should.
Life without you just does not make sense and all attempts to fill the void are inadequate.
So tired of the fight and effort it requires to get through each day.
I feel like I need to acknowledge that my entire life of bad luck has won.
Bandaid solution.
Trying anything to cover the pain and make it go away.
Realizing and accepting that regardless of trying to be a good person and giving so much to others isn’t enough to avoid fate when she comes knocking to take away everything you love.
See absolutely no way out of all of this.

The only existence I know.
Tired of fighting and ready to give in to the unrelenting darkness.


The Hostility That Lurks Below the Surface

Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody’s power and is not easy.” ~~ Aristotle


Not angry in a “I want to talk about the 7-stages of grieving” bullshit way, but just angry.  The amount of hostility that I feel seething below the surface has a mind of its own and I feel as though I am ready to snap.  This anger is like a slowly brewing pot of water that is almost to its boiling point.  Sometimes I feel it clawing its way to the surface like its going to burst out of me.  I’m talking about a complete lack of patience, an annoyance for people, and an aggravation over the mundane.  I don’t know where it has come from or why it has gotten so bad, but I can feel it getting worse.

I’m angry at the ignorant people in my classes who have a complete lack of respect for their teachers and fellow classmates who talk throughout the entire class.  These are people who clearly aren’t paying for their own education and just because they don’t care they think everyone else must not care either.  I’m angry about getting up day after day to work towards this degree and feel like its going nowhere.

I’m impatient with people asking stupid questions like, “You seem like you’re in a bad mood.  What’s wrong?”.  I want to scream at them asking why they are so stupid and how they can ask that.  I have to hold back the words on the tip of my tongue to point out their ignorance and tell them exactly how I feel about their questions.  I’m more impatient over things that I know I shouldn’t be.  I’m annoyed with people who blabber on and on about nothingness just to fill the silence and to hear themselves talk when I’m trying to work, or read, or study, or write a paper, or just be in a quiet space.

I’m angry at people daring to ask if I’m dating yet.  I’m angry with people assuming I should be OK by now and trying to put a time limit on my grief.  I’m frustrated that because they have recovered faster than I have, they assume I should be OK too.  I’m disappointed in the people I thought would be there to support me more that seem to have forgotten.

I am hostile towards the people who think going four days without seeing their boyfriend or girlfriend is the most devastating separation and they fail to realize what separation really is or how lucky they are that their loved one is coming back in a few short days.  I am hostile towards the people who still make irresponsible decisions and don’t appreciate the reality that each and every day could be their last.  I am hostile towards undeserving people being granted one more day to live and you’re gone.

I hate myself for not doing more for other people.  I hate myself for still feeling so lost.  I hate myself every day I get out of bed and every night I go to sleep.  I hate myself for being so unfocused and non-functioning.  I hate myself for being impatient yesterday with my students while teaching when usually I control it.  I hate myself for being so angry.  I hate myself for not being able to hide it better.  I hate the emptiness I feel inside of me.  I fucking hate life without you.

I hate myself for feeling like this and for even needing to write these words which has only made me feel like a terrible, ungrateful, selfish person.

I’m angry at how my life has turned out and the nothingness that has arisen.  I’m angry at this dismal outlook on life that shows no hope of improving.

I’m angry.