Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Here it is, 1:54 am, and I can't sleep. I have been tossing and turning, feeling frustrated that once again, I don't see the point of sleeping. My days and nights are all the same. I can make them pleasant, and I can either busy myself, or just sit. Either way there is no escaping my reality.
As I laid here in bed it dawned on me that it was now September, a month I didn't want to come around. The moment I realized this I broke down, heaving a groan of despair. I feel like my heart is being pulled under, or that I am being sucked into a big black hole. I desperately want to escape this. September is bringing back so much pain. Pain I don't want to feel.
I am starting to doubt my own words of optimism. I feel like I want to run and hide. I don't really want to think about how difficult this time was last year. I don't want to think about Michael's suffering. I don't want to picture him so helpless.
Night time often feels like hell to me. I can occupy my thoughts by writing, reading or watching something on television, but eventually I have to lay down in our bed alone. I have to turn out the lights and experience the empty darkness around me. I have to lay here needing a comfort that will not be mine.
Nothing is going to help. I need him. It's him that I want.
I sound like a broken record. I'm tired of hearing myself think or say this. I want to smack my own head and tell myself to snap out of it. Michael is dead! Deal with it.
This is the time, that in the past I would start going through everything of Michael's in the room. I would go for all the cards he gave me. I would read all of his words. I would start touching all of his clothing, and hold them near to me, hoping to smell his scent, or to grab hold of his DNA. Next I might even make the mistake of getting out the DVD of our wedding so I can hear him recite his vows to me. I would sit here in tears, looking at the way he looks at me. I would get to experience that wonderful smile, and those glorious eyes.
Broken record. Broken record.
Get over it. Get a grip. Get on with life.
I hate the night. I hate September.
I'm up late every night. It's getting worse and worse. I want peace. I want acceptance. I want to stop feeling so victimized by life. I want to wake up and realize it was all a fucking dream. I'm still so damn mad.
This is stupid. It feels like it's getting me no where. I spend all of my time with my computer attached to my hip. It is like a lifeline for me, but one person's lifeline can be another persons addiction. Am I addicted to this cyber world where I can just throw out my thoughts to the Internet, and sometimes within minutes have some kind of response?
Even now, at 2:29 am, I am keenly aware that once I stop typing, and put away my computer, I will once again be alone in my room, and alone in my grief. I am so tired of telling myself to just relax and sleep.
Sleep, what for?